The Dead Riseth in the End
by Tabstilus
Summary: After the initial fall of the Three, a young necromancer must join with unexpected allies to save Sanctuary from his father and the evils that still wander the land. Chapter 10 up, Please read and review!
1. Prolouge: A Grim Legacy

Prologue  
  
A Grim Legacy  
  
The necromancer stood, cold and alone in the depths of the hidden monastery he had lived in for the whole of his 16-year existence. Here he stayed, immersed in his art, forced to study the dead and the diseased by his father. His father was a rather important figure in the East, where they lived. This is because he was one of the Surviving Heroes. It was he, the grand necromancer, who defeated the Prime Evils in his younger days. Now this necromancer, his own flesh and blood, stood as a replacement.  
  
A multitude of bony scrapings drew the young mage's attention in the dank, dark crypt. His cousin was here-- Raeson. He was training under the Grand Necromancer as well, and the Great One seemed at times to prefer him to his own son, despite the fact that he gave his son his own name;  
  
Faust.  
  
The Grand Necromancer had been a prodigy in a long line of Rathma priests. The family of Faust had been one of the more prominent families in the necromancer art for many, many, many generations. However, the only one to make a specific appearance in the general history of the world was the Grand Necromancer, Faust MMIV, who defeated Diablo, Mephisto, and Baal on a grand quest with other warriors.  
  
The young necromancer sighed softly, for he had been given the prestigious title of being the next Faust. Faust MMV became his name at age six, but that was only a title. Raeson was competing for his father's favor, in order to claim the title for his own.  
  
The skeleton he had heard earlier came out of the view. It was quickly followed by a second, and then a third. Raeson was so proud of himself in that respect. A few months younger than Faust he was, and yet he already could summon two more skeletons than Raeson himself could. However, Raeson didn't have some of the skils Faust had mastered either...  
  
Concentrating his will, Faust beckoned the assistance of Trang Oul, who quickly obliged. Focusing his natural magic abilities into a wand he had been holding, Faust sent four corporeal masses of pure magic at the minion, which shattered as it collided with the projectiles.  
  
"I see you have improved..." Came the voice of his cousin. Soon the thin form of Raeson appeared, followed by two more skeletal assistants.  
  
"Care to duel?" 


	2. Chapter 1: Dueling

The Dead Riseth in the End  
  
Chapter 1: Dueling  
  
The two of them stood silent inside the dank and musky hall of the Faust Mauseleum. Without making any sort of noise, both of them took a mana potion and both of them threw their bottles on the ground. Looking over at Raeson, Faust began to try to analyze his tactics. However, he didn't have much of a chance. It wasn't long before one of Raeson's own skeletal minions began scraping across the cold floor of the tomb. In a failed attempt at espionage it attacked Faust from the side. Almost too instinctively, the young necromancer had thrown up a corporeal manifestation of a dead spirit from the afterlife, and forced it to form a set of makeshift armor around his arm. The skeleton's sickle type weapon smashed against this armor, shattering it, but still leaving Faust fairly untouched.  
  
Backing away from the minion, Faust let out a silent prayer to Trang'Oul, the dragon deity of the Rathma following, and he was granted a part of the dragon's magic. Using the energy of his mana, Faust channeled the desire through the wand in his hand and expertly pulled three of the Den'Trag from their ethereal plane of existence and hurled them at the skeleton, shattering it.  
  
With a shrug, Raeson looked at his cousin. With a deft ease that made it seem as simple as breathing, Raeson summoned two more minions from the walls, bringing his total to three. The numbers, Faust could tell, were two much for him to handle. These skeletons also seemed to be stronger than the last one that Faust had destroyed; it seemed that Raeson was gaining better control over the spirits he chose to inhabit the bodies.  
  
Having no other choice at them moment, Faust looked around. The mausoleum was lined with all sorts of corpses, embalmed so that they could still be used for any purpose the necromancers of the family required. By default, a priest of Rathma already understood what could happen to their body when they were dead, and naturally, none had any complaints.  
  
Seeing the bodies gave Faust an idea, using the Den'Trag could be a laborious task for his own magical energy, but he saw it as the only way out. Using the Den'Trag as blades of sorts, Faust began launching them into the walls, cutting down a variety of corpses. He had to keep moving, however, for a very good reason.  
  
Raeson had begun to be more aggressive with his minions. All three of them, which Faust had assumed that was the number Raeson could sustain, had begun attacking in cooperative group formations and attacks. Faust had much trouble staying out of their reach, and much to his dismay, they all had shields, shields which the Den'Trag could not break. None of that mattered, however. Soon it should be over.  
  
Corpses now littered their dueling area, and Raeson was glaring smugly at his cousin behind the protection of his minions. With a cocky smile that still reeked of the Necromancers inner talents, Raeson spoke;  
  
"Nice decorations." he said with a sneer; "Too bad you just gave my more fodder as well. Nice job. All of that time with the poisons must have stunted your cognitive faculties."  
  
Without saying anything himself, Faust just picked up the body on the floor next to him. Death had made the body stiff, and relatively light. With a great outburst of strength, Faust hurled the body at the skeleton minions, who easily skewered it together with their weapons, holding it in mid air. Raeson moved in closer to the minions in order to get into the light. Faust could see the glaring look on his cousin's face, who was obviously proud of his minions' achievement.  
  
However, they couldn't feel what Faust was really doing. Using some more of his mana, which had recovered since his great dislodging maneuver, Faust was altering the very bodies of his cousin and his skeletons. To the skeletons he was loosening the structures that held them together, making them weaker, so any impact would do more damage to their form. To his cousin, he was opening up the nerves and limiting the red blood cells in his body. This would cause his cousin to feel more pain.  
  
Raeson spoke in his usual boisterous tone, one that disgusted Faust; "See what my minions can do? They're far superior to your bone techniques. It seems you picked the wrong specialty, Faust." He said his name with a bitter slur as he spit on the ground.  
  
Faust only smiled; "Yeah, I picked the wrong ability alright..."  
  
As a nightmarish smile crept on Raeson's face, Faust concentrated on the corpse the skeletons were holding. In a manipulation of decay, he forced volatile gases on the insides of the corpse to expel themselves. A violent explosion echoed in th halls of the mausoleum, and the force shattered the vulnerable skeletons, but Raeson was worse off. The burning hot gases inside the corpse had erupted full-force into his face, which was the level the corpse was being suspended at. As the young summoner stumbled, his cries of pure anguish and pain permeated the humid death shrine. Faust only continued. Raeson had backed into one of the other corpses, Faust set it off. The corpse sent the same hot gasses into the back of his cousin, obviously scouring him.  
  
"OH TRANG'OUL IT BURNS!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"  
  
Faust only stood, deaf to Raeson's cries. As his cousin stumbled, cried, and clutched his face, Faust prepared for another explosion. However, he couldn't conjure it. He had used to much mana. Faust moved in, and withdrew the dagger he had been keeping...  
  
However, he didn't have a chance to use it. Before he could, a streak of blue shot through the tomb and hit Raeson, freezing him and freeing him of the pain of his wounds. What followed for Faust was much more painful. A large spire of corporeal bone, a Talon of Trang'Oul pierced the shoulder of his armor, breaking the bone armor he had fashioned before and pinned him to the wall behind him. Into the chamber, with a swish of a cape and an aura so foreboding the corpses seemed to shudder, The Grand Necromancer Faust MMIV walked into the chamber....  
  
And it looked as if he was going to have a word with his son. 


	3. Chapter 2: Lessons

Chapter 2: Lessons  
  
The Grand Necromancer walked in to the large formal hall of the mausoleum, his ears rented with the anguished screams of one of his apprentices. He did not know which one of them was screaming at this point, but he knew it would do well to stop them. The order of Rathma had only survived up to this point because all of its practitioners knew what could happen if any conflict had arisen between members, and apropos, conflict was avoided. Something was different than normal, however. His three apprentices were all relatively amateur necromantic apprentices. Inside the hall there was a large amount of inward mana burn and raw magic talent. This talent was so huge, that at first, Faust could not help but tremble when he felt it in the Cycle. The Great Cycle of Being seemed to be more balanced now by this great power, a power that frightened him...What could have been? The power signature was strange as well. It reminded Faust of....Her. The dark woman, the memory of whom he had kept locked away inside his mind since his younger days of adventuring... Why would he be sensing this now? This energy was alive and poignant, almost a threat to him, even though he was the Grand Necromancer.  
  
For reassurance, Faust looked down upon the medallion he always wore. It was designed out of gold, a gift from a blacksmith he had met on his travels, and its headpiece was made to be in the shape of a skull itself. The skull was a marvel to anyone who had seen it. Shaped and made by Faust himself, only the frame of the large circular skull was made of gold. The rest of the skull was made out of three different color jewels; red, deep blue, and yellow, each making up at least 1/3 of the skull itself. It was a...Token from the days of his most famous quest, and held within it amazing magical power.  
  
When he walked into the hall itself, he could tell that the injured was Raeson. Even though Raeson's face was covered with his hands, Faust MMIV could still tell. His heir, Faust MMV, was standing in the corner of the hall, near a wall, and watching as his cousin was tormented by whatever action he had taken. Taking it among himself to resolve the conflict, which he assumed was a duel gone bad, Faust MMIV summoned the spirit of a long-dead magi from the ethereal plane. With luck, and an amount of skill that only came from decades of study in the necromagic arts, he summoned forth a minion of the element of ice. He had learned how to seek out the magical signatures of certain elements by studying with a wandering band of Zann Esu sorceresses on his journey to the Burning Hells, and it helped him to this day. The Zann Esu had also provided him with another powerful tool, but that was something locked within the deep recesses of his mind.  
  
Bringing himself back to the present, Faust quickly ordered the mage to freeze Raeson, which it did with perfect, concise precision. After its job was done, Faust banished it back to the realm it came from. It had no purpose, so it was destroyed. When you rose to power, you left no excess for enemies to exploit. That was his code of survival. After Raeson had been frozen, Faust wasted no time. The rivalry between Faust's son and his nephew were intense, and Faust speculated that his son would kill Raeson if he were given the chance. Channeling his energy, Faust sent a normally useless bone spear shard at his son, piercing his arm and sending him to the wall. Normally, bone spear was a worthless spell, and only used for practice for the ultimate bone attack, where the necromancer summoned and used a malevolent spirit to cause permanent damage to the soul of an enemy by steeling part of it away. Once you were scarred with a "bone spirit", you never healed.  
  
With a cold and determined expression, Faust MMIV spoke to his son....   
  
Faust MMV sighed inwardly as his father stepped into the hall. The noxious and volitile fumes of the exploded corpses still hung in the air, but the equally menacing atmosphere of the Grand Necromancer seemed to scare away the very fumes from the hall. Raeson could sense his father's dread power filling the hall, pushing aside the smell, and piercing his very soul. His father looked with a menacing glance at him, and then gave a glare at the whole hall. Even Faust, who was used to the dank and morbid atmosphere of the tomb, who never flinched at touching dead flesh, whom was never bodied by skin-slippage, whom never mind the excessive body fluids or the rigor mortis, felt himself shrink in this man's presence. This was the Champion of Rathma who had felled the three Prime Evils, and restored balance to the Great Cycle of Being itself.  
  
Faust's first instinct was to bow, but as he tried, a great pain shot through his right arm. The shard of bone had been solidified, and it still pinned him to the wall of the tomb. With a shameful and amazingly appropriate look of pure mortification, he prepared to glance into the cold, grey, deathly, lifeless eyes of his seemingly immortal father. However, it was not as he had expected. His father's eyes, which were normally filled with the grey void of death, now seemed to be filled with a sort of fire...An eerie, almost unexplained fire that Faust, as his son, had never seen captured in those haunting orbs, even at his father's most intense moments of passion.  
  
Something was going on. Had he violated a sacred code? Had something gone wrong in the ethereal plane? Was something interrupting the Great Cycle of Being? Now that Faust had thought about it, he did feel something out of touch with the Cycle. All necromancers were connected to the Great Cycle of Being from their first day of being initiated as an inductee into the Priesthood. For Faust, that age was very young, so he was somewhat sensitive to the Cycle, but not so much as his father was. However, this disturbance Faust felt...It was very similar to the feeling he felt when the Prime Evils were roaming the mortal plane.... Except; It seemed to be emanating from his own father...  
  
Before he could think about the matter any more, his father began to speak. At the same time; a single, emotionless, nonliving entity walked into the room. One of his master's Clay Golem's no doubt. One of the Grand Necromancer's great any mysterious talents, he could manifest any number of Golems he chose, almost as if they were lesser skeletal beings. It never made sense to any of the necromancers who were part of the neighboring priesthood, not even to those in the highest echelon of the Priesthood. Everyone just assumed that brushing with the very masters of Hell and coming out alive was enough to do that to someone. With a lifeless gaze, and a strength that came only from being a minion of the dead, the golem lifted the block of ice that was Raeson and carried him away, in order for him to seek medical attention, of course.  
  
With his cousin out of the room, Faust could see that his father was not the happiest person in Sanctuary, so he prepared himself for a long speech.  
  
"Do you know what your place in this world is?" The Grand Necromancer asked, his voice full of point and malice. Faust looked up at his father, and stared him directly in the eyes. However, the necromancer's gaze was too hostile and piercing to hold for long. Within two seconds Faust had deterred his gaze in defeat.  
  
"I am a Priest of Rathma, master. I live to study the Great Cycle of Being and shift the boundary between life and death." Faust said this line with the air of a well-rehearsed line in a play, his father, however, was still stern in his look, and continued on.  
  
"Exactly! You are a Priest of Rathma, known as a Necromancer to all other sides of the world. Tell me, how long have the Priest of Rathma been at work, Faust, my son?"  
  
"The priests have been in operation since the time before history, before man had obtained the concept of a written language from the Heavenly beings. We are as old as time itself, for man was always looking to forsake death in some way. We have since then learned to accept death as a part of life."  
  
His father gave him an encouraging, yet still wrathful glance, and a nod, then he continued;  
  
"Yes.. The priests have had activity since well before the rise of modern civilization, or even the archaic languages. That time is millennia upon millennia upon millennia.. We have endured just as long, if not longer than the ancient clans of the Zann Esu, the Horadrim, and the Vizjerei. However, we are different from them in one fundamental difference. The Priests of Rathma have never, ever had to form a branch like that of the Viz-Jaq'Taar to police ourselves. Every priest has stood together, in one group since the foundation of our order... Do you know why?"  
  
Faust opened his mouth to answer, but he was stopped;  
  
"It's because we have no ego!! The Order of Rathma still exists because every priest has known in his heart from the start of his training that he is no better than this!!!" At that point, with a wrathful flair and energy Faust's father pointed at a corpse on the ground, and went back to his lecture.  
  
"If one priest lets hubris and ego cloud his mind-Just one, than the order could be plunged into a violent, opinionated war like that of Horazon and Bartuc that splits it apart a forces us to take sides!! With the Priests of the Dead fighting a war, we would never recover, and our order would be banished from Sanctuary forever by our own selfishness. If we are to stay together, we cannot have juvenile apprentices like you taking a test of skill too far!! Dueling is considered an honorable practice of competition and skill, but you are never to kill your opponent without their consent to such a duel! You know that Raeson was not willing to stake his life, and yet you were just as willing to take it away from him!!!"  
  
Faust's father had finally connected the lecture to what had happened like Faust knew he would eventually. Now he was in major trouble, he knew. He had never seen his father this angry at anything before. Something was setting into a strange mood, something Faust couldn't explain.. Impatiently, his father turned away in disgust, and Faust saw something that he had never seen before. On his father's neck was a gold amulet with a large centerpiece. The piece was finely crafted, made of real gold, but the center was the trick. It was a skull, made up of three jewels, all three red, blue, and gold respectively. For some strange reason, Raeson thought that this was the source of the strange force he had felt emanating from his father earlier, but he just shrugged, and watched as his father stepped out of the room, probably to check on Raeson. Faust returned to his own quarters of the tomb.  
  
Faust MMIV walked inside his grand yet morbid room inside his the mausoleum his family lived in. In the corner he could see his faithful assistant, one who had originally been held against his will, but had eventually decided to stay without regret. Faust looked at him, for he seemed to have a strange look in his eyes. As Faust looked at the ancient face, he could see that it was hundreds of years older than himself, and filled with ancient magical gifts, but still under his control.  
  
"The minions have reported a disturbance." The hidden assistant said calmly.  
  
"Well? What is it? You should be able to see them."  
  
"Yes... I can. A small party of Viz-Jaq'Taar. They're like the normal parties that come by every once an a while, except-"  
  
"Well, that's simple! Let the minions take care of them!" Faust interrupted. The man, who seemed slightly annoyed, continued;  
  
"Except, she is with them."  
  
The mention of that person made Faust seem even whiter than he had been before. With an almost shaking turn, he faced his companion.  
  
"E-Erias? She's here? That means that the Vizjerei and the Zann Esu have aligned against me??"  
  
"It means that they're thinking about it, sire."  
  
"We need to get rid of that party. I will go myself-"  
  
Now his own companion, who moved closer to the single torch that lit the room, cut off Faust. Ancient clothing, which was now worn to rags, hung on his thin body, which had been nourished by magic rather than physical sustenance. The ancient runes of the Horadrim also covered his uniform, and his face was almost unearthly.  
  
"You could...Send the boy, the uninjured one. Your heir, if I recall."  
  
The thought of sending his own son to battle a threat that seemed so much above him disgusted Faust, and in retribution he rapped his hand against the yellow section of his medallion, causing it to waver slightly in its golden casing. This caused the man in the corner to shake and exclaim in pain, as well as commence heavy breathing. Despite the pain, the man continued;  
  
"You felt it today.. He has an aura you cannot deny. If you do not keep him in check, his power and ego will over run him. It would be best if the party killed him and you did not, it would keep the Priests from being suspicious. Everyone knows that the other mage clans do not exactly agree with your kind. No one would bother questioning your story."  
  
Faust thought about what the man had said, and it did make sense. With a calm, unnerved air, he looked at the wall of his room. Lining the room, all of them up against the wall, were multitudes upon multitudes of skeletal warriors. Pointing at one, he sent it to go retrieve his son. He had a mission to fail. 


	4. Chapter 3: Death?

Chapter 3: Death?  
  
Faust MMV was lying on his cloth-lined bed, which used to be a coffin, when the servant came in. The presence of the single skeletal minion reflected the aura of its master almost perfectly, and Faust knew that his father was summoning him to come to his chamber. At this point, Faust had no idea what his father wanted, but he wouldn't be surprised if his father just wanted to instill some more lecturing upon him. With a taxing amount of effort, Faust lifted himself off of his bed, and began to follow the minion, which turned and began walking towards his father's room.  
  
This skeleton was also a by-product of the Grand Necromancer's fateful quest. Much like the multitude of golems around the facility, the Grand Necromancer displayed a very peculiar skill of being able to make exceptionally articulate minions who could do his bidding from very long distance. Not even Raeson, who was the top apprentice in the form of summons, could manage skeletons through the mausoleum's winding halls and tunnels. Faust's mind wandered to Raeson now as he followed the skeletal minion through the tomb. Where was he now? Was he alive? And, for some reason, Faust found that he didn't care.  
  
The minion finally stopped at the large wooden door that signaled entry into his father's room. With no visible effort, at least none that could be shown, the skeleton opened up the large door and beckoned Faust to step inside. Faust did so, albeit a little hesitantly. The room inside was dimly lit with torches, but Faust remembered it being lighter than the first time he had been in the room as a smaller child. Sitting on a rather plain chair in the middle of the room was his father. This was the chair he sat in when he had something important to tell a family member, or just when he wanted to think. By the time Faust walked in, his father seemed to be more in the contemplating stage of the chair usage, but that didn't mean that what he was thinking of wasn't important.  
  
With a sort of wary gait, Faust stepped lightly into his father's chamber. Here the smell of the mausoleum was not quite so poignant, but then again, it didn't have to be. Like always, the Grand Necromancer's own power filled the lair enough to suffocate any person who entered, whether or not they air be pure. Within a few timid steps, Faust had reached his father, who seemed to be locked in his own thoughtfulness. Faust noticed, for not reason in particular, that the yellow portion of his father's strange medallion seemed like it was glowing brighter in the room, but he assumed that it was just the light playing a trick on his eyes. He wasn't one that was prone to sleeping very often, after all.  
  
Faust's father looked different as well. Like other necromancers he had the basic body build of a skeleton, but also with some muscle mass from his younger days. Also, his father's skin was a pasty white, the common tint of the necromancer, and his hair had taken on an almost albino like pigment as well. These features were pretty much the side effects of studying the dead inside cold dank mausoleums, but something was still different about Faust MMIV. He looked...Drained. Like he had been contending with something of great power, or had just been engaged in rigorous activity. Faust was beginning to be concerned about his father, but it was also none of his business, so asking about anything would have gotten him nothing in the process.  
  
His father, who finally seemed to take notice of him, looked up at him in sudden surprise. The surprise was just one of a mild shock, however, nothing to be worried about.. Or so Faust thought. With his facial expression turning back to one of a solemn mage, Faust MMIV spoke to his son in a serious voice;  
  
"Son, something serious is going on around the grounds of our family's compound right now. A small party of Viz-Jaaq'Tar and Zann Esu sorceresses is spying on us right now as I speak. They are dubious of our craft, and they seek to do us harm. There are three of the assassins patrolling, and they are under a party of three mages. However, we are lucky that our enemies underestimate us, for they are only initiates. Son, protect the Priesthood, and go defeat them in the name of Rathma! Consider this an exercise that will further your training."  
  
This certainly was a particularly shocking request! Never before had Faust been offered such an opportunity from his father, and he was more that willing to accept it. Having nothing left to say to his father, Faust only bowed, and then walked out of the room. Hoping his message to be well sent, Faust walked through the caverns of the mausoleum by himself, and into his own quarters. On a set of bone-racks, there stood three pieces of arms, a belt, a wand, and a cap. Infernal Tools they were, and they had aided Faust for many years, ever since his father had given them to him as a Right of Passage. Slipping on the pieces of enchanted armor, Faust immediately felt their cunning energies flowing through him like the Great Cycle, which governed his very way of living. These Tools also allowed him a deeper knowledge and understanding of the Crafts he bore. After setting on the armor, Faust was ready to defend the land of his clan and his legacy.  
  
Faust exited the Mausoleum into the bright world of the Easterly jungles. This wasn't the very first time Faust's eyes had been set on the wondrous trees of the forest where his family's mausoleum lie, but it was the first in a very long time. Even though he hadn't set eyes on the trees in a long time, something about them told Faust that something was wrong. A presence hung in the air, something similar to that of his father, but it disappeared as quickly as it had shown itself.  
  
Knowing that the spies his father spoke of were somewhere near the mausoleum, Faust began moving quietly about the woods in hopes of finding something or someone that would point to the people he sought. Luckily for him, his body weight made little to no noise against the leaves of the forest as he prowled, or his position could have been compromised. He had not wandered long before a sort of slight mechanical whirring came to his ears, as well as a slight crunching of leaves. A few footsteps later, and a wave of flame shot at him from the base of a nearby tree. Shocked, he was only able to hop to the side just in time to avoid the majority of the flames, but his arm sang with the distinct melody of pain. He had little time to shudder when a girl wearing a turquoise form-fitting battle robe confronted him. She carried a small metal buckler, as well as an exotic baton of sorts in her hand. Faust recognized this as the general uniform of the Sorceress, the Zann Esu. Wasting no time, both of the combatants ran at each other, Faust being careful enough to remember the sorceress's previous line of fire. While the sorceress raised an electric shield in defense, Faust rose a set of bone armor, and the two collided briefly with strikes from their weapons. After backing away, Faust went on a relentless onslaught. Summoning salvo after salvo of the Den'Trag, he saw that he was slowly but surely overwhelming the assassin. Every time she began mustering for a trap, the teeth punctured her. Within seconds, she was down with multiple flesh wounds, but not out. A startling wave of unknown power seemed to club Faust square in the forehead, causing him to stumble. Behind him, there was a flash, then crack of thunder. With a blow to his head, one final thought entered his mind...  
  
"Another sorceress...."  
  
And all was black.  
  
Back in the Mausoleum, Faust MMIV and his strange companion were sitting alone;  
  
"She has appeared." The stranger said in a monotonous voice;  
  
"And his life force seems to have wavered too..."  
  
Faust could only keep a grim expression on his face, as the yellow part of his medallion glowed, giving his stranger a renewed light.  
  
Outside of the room, unbeknownst to the two of them, there was a bandaged Raeson. Across the left half of his face was a series of complex bandages, while various parts of his body were wrapped as well. After hearing his father talk to what seemed to be himself, Raeson could only smile. It would be nice to have his cousin out of the picture, but something told him it would only be temporary... 


	5. Chapter 4: The Zann Esu and the VizJaaq...

Chapter 4: The Zann Esu and the Viz-Jaaq'Taar  
  
When Faust awoke, the first thing he realized was that he was in chains. The fact that he was upside down came second, but was nonetheless a startling revelation. If he strained his eyes he could see the reflexive surface of vertical metallic bars in front of him, signifying some sort of a prison. Faust tried looking around to see if there were any guards, but the blood began rushing to his head before he could. Apparently, he hadn't been their long. Straining his abdominal muscles, Faust pulled himself up as much as he could, righting the upper part of his body and sending the blood downward. Now he was able to think straight, but he soon had to fall down again because of muscle strain.  
  
As he released his muscles and his body flopped back into its first position, he released he had done so too haphazardly. With a rattle of his chains, and a loud collision, Raeson banged his back against the cold cell wall, which he soon realized was made of stone. Pain shot through his body, but he didn't groan or exclaim. He was taught not to give into pain quickly in the hands of enemies. Besides, he was also his father's Guinea Pig when it came to testing various poisons. This was nothing compared to those colorful trials.  
  
There was a shuffle outside, and Faust was still. It seemed like his cell was guarded. Looking out, he could see a turquoise clad female walking out of the cell...Could it have been a guard change? Now was his chance. Grouping his strength, Faust reared up again, and fired a few quick volleys of four Den'Trag, two from each of his hands. The teeth severed the chains, and Faust landed on the ground. There was a yellow flash inside the room, and Faust turned around and fired another set of teeth as he stood up. A loud, thunderous crash echoed throughout the room, and Faust was face to face with a sorceress. She was rather young looking, but she had oldness about her that Faust placed at about 40 or 50. Electricity crackled around her, which was probably what she used to stop Faust's Den'Trag from harming her. The sorceress looked at him with a sort of quizzical glare, and then sat down at a nearby chair.  
  
Faust looked around, confused, nervous, and even hostile in his unknown environment and spoke;  
  
"Who-who are you? Where am I?"  
  
Something that vaguely resembled a smile crossed the Sorceress's face, and she spoke;  
  
"That's not important right now, young one. Ask me another time. For now, however, get some sleep. You're going to need it."  
  
Puzzled, Faust moved up to the bars of the cell and let his tongue go in outburst;  
  
"Answer me!!! I don't have to take this!! Let me go!!"  
  
The sorceress smiled again; showing a nice row of perfectly white teeth, and then stood up;  
  
"You can leave whenever you want... Just look at the lock."  
  
Looking down at the lock to his cell, Faust saw that he had effectively roasted it with his teeth. Apparently the teeth had destroyed the lock and gone on through to attack the sorceress. Too dumbfounded to really do anything else, Faust opened the cell and walked out. Did he really do that? With an even more puzzled expression, he began to look up, not noticing the flash that filled the room a second previous;  
  
"Who are-"  
  
Only to realize, she was gone.  
  
"Well, I guess I can leave then... Nothing stopping me now.."  
  
Faust walked towards the door of what was apparently a single cell building. He put his hand on the door knob, and then turned it.... And then sat down on the chair the sorceress had been in earlier. Now a second thought crossed his mind; What happened to the sorceress in the woods?  
  
"You weren't really going to let him go, were you?"  
  
"Of course not, Quirrari, your own assassins are guarding him from afar, besides, I knew he was going to stay."  
  
"No you didn't. I swear, Erias, sometimes I wonder why the other Zann Esu elders put up with you, even though you're decades younger than they are."  
  
"I helped defeat Terror, Hate, and Destruction, what other choice do they have?"  
  
"Hmm...I suppose you're right. So, are we sure this is the right boy?"  
  
"He's Faust's alright... And he's the one we've been looking for. He'll do the job."  
  
"Do you think so? Are you sure he'll have enough power? And what of skills? This boy is barely an apprentice!!"  
  
"Don't worry about that, I have one of Faust's spell books from the times we journeyed together. And as for his magic power, I of all people should know what he is capable of. Besides, you know what he did to that lock.  
  
"Yes.. So how is Penelope?"  
  
"Multiple lacerations, and moderate blood loss, other than that, she'll be fine. Her only long term injury will be a bruised ego."  
  
"Oh, that's an injury that will serve her well. I know my Ilfe could use something like it..."  
  
"How did her espionage mission go? I had to lose her to help Penelope in the woods."  
  
"Well, sadly, it is as we feared."  
  
"Well, then His training is going to have to go all the faster."  
  
"Regrettably. Do you think he'll survive?"  
  
"I did, why should he be any different??" 


	6. Chapter 5: Penelope

Chapter 5: Penelope  
  
That bastard necromancer was the only thing she could think about as she lay in her bed. If it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't be the laughing stock of the camp. "Defeated by a Priest!! How sad Penelope!!" That was what they all said, and it annoyed her. She had tried to confront him in the forest, but he had obviously been too ruthless. Her body was decorated with many semi-deep wounds from one of the necromancer's dark projectiles, but the healers had said she would be healed soon enough, and that she could even walk around now, in small bursts of course. While she normally would have taken this course of action, the sight of the blood-spotted bandages around her waist area somewhat deterred her. She spotted her staff over to the right of her bed. If she had wanted to, she could reach it and then use it as a support, but still the bandages made her somewhat sick. How her teacher must be ashamed... Erias had taught her better, and here she was just lying in bed, wounded by a necromancer. An inferior mage... How could she have become so sloppy!?  
  
Her mental ranting was stopped by the pitter-patter of quiet yet seasoned boots, someone was coming, maybe to see her, or maybe just to berate her like the others. How humiliating it was for a Zann Esu to lose to a Priest!!! She had been training with Erias for over six years, and even though she was obviously the best out of her "batch" of recruits, they still had the gall and the impudence to chide her! She had gone over the battle again in her head, and she saw that her error lie in her use of Electric Shield. Penelope realized that she obviously wasn't ready to exert such control over her art, after all. Erias was right on that. The older, but not much older, sage had warned her that she wasn't ready to exercise her shield, but she hadn't listened, and tried it anyway. It had left her drained and almost dead, if Erias hadn't been there to save her, that was.  
  
The visitor had walked into the room at last. To the surprise of Penelope, she was greeted by, not a chiding associate, but by her own sage teacher, Erias Vaughten. Erias was a special member of the Zann Esu tribe, and so was Penelope by association. Erias had been one of the adventurers that traveled from the Sightless Eye to the Gates of Heaven in search of the Prime Evils. This quest, and its success, had brought immense popularity to the women herself, but ever since, she and the elders seemed... Burdened by something. All of the Zann Esu elders were tired as of late. Granted, they were all close to their sixties, but usually they all had a great amount of vitality. Now Erias, undoubtedly the youngest of these elders, being only 12 years her apprentice's superior at 25, was standing in the doorway, her eyes locked with those of her apprentice. A sort of silence filled the room, but so did Erias' magic aura. The involuntary field completely dwarfed Penelope's own, but still the exhaustion in the older sorceress was apparent. Being the young, rash, and straightforward one, Penelope broke the ice;  
  
"It's so nice to see you in here, teacher...And entering in the most mundane fashion."  
  
"Yes, I know. Teleporting has its advantages, but I didn't want to disturb you in case you were sleeping."  
  
"Well, obviously you don't have to worry about that."  
  
"Hmm." The older sorceress smiled, she was obviously thinking of something, and then she continued;  
  
"How are you doing? Are you feeling better?"  
  
Erias cringed inwardly, for she knew at that moment that she had asked the wrong question. Penelope's normally gentle, delicate face twisted into an avatar of hatred and disgust. Obviously she still felt some physical pain from the wounds, or perhaps it was merely emotional. Whatever the effect, Erias assumed that it wasn't just the wounds that were loathed, but their bringer as well.  
  
"I'm fine... But that damn dirty Rathma Priest won't be!! I swear that one day I'll venture up into his tower and-"  
  
"Get yourself killed?"  
  
Penelope's look of disgust intensified. She seemed to hold her adversary in the utmost form of contempt possible. This happened many times with Zann Esu sorceresses, as Erias had seen many times over the years, even with the Elders. Tired as they were, the Elders were still convinced that their art was the only true magic art of the world, and again that they were the world's foremost practitioners of it. Erias hated their ignorance, but didn't want to take that out on Penelope. Because of this, she allowed the girl to continue.  
  
"No! A Priest like that couldn't kill me!! Never! The unworthy dog.."  
  
Definitely contempt. There was nothing left for Erias to do except interject;  
  
"He almost did."  
  
"Ah, but he didn't."  
  
Erias was getting slightly annoyed. Penelope wasn't usually this impudent, but she had been changed somehow. Being defeated had taken her down a notch, and she didn't like it. She always had to be the best. Being beaten by a member from another magic clan wouldn't make her any happier either. Penelope was getting almost too egotistical, so Erias drove one final statement home;  
  
"Yes.. But only because of me!"  
  
This quick conversation obviously got the best of Penelope. Even with the injuries she sustained, Penelope slowly, but angrily got to her feet, and, with a slight display of pain, grabbed her staff. Looking over at her teacher as she walked out of the door, she spat;  
  
"I'm going for a walk.."  
  
Erias stood there, silent as her apprentice stormed out of the quarters she lived in. Releasing a long sigh, Erias teleported out of the building. More pressing matters were at hand right now. Dissonance among the elders was brewing slowly but surely in the Zann Esu system. The Elder's had only finalized the alliance of the Zann Esu and the Vizjerei a few days ago, and now it seemed that they were squabbling over something again. Erias had been trying to act like a moderator to the whole thing, but to no avail. Now, however, it was time to prepare for a very important gathering....  
  
Faust MMIV was sitting, alone for now in the antechamber of his quarters in the family mausoleum. His son had gone missing a few hours ago, with no great loss to his father. Now, without his son, Faust could brew grander plans for himself, and Sanctuary. The alliance of the Vizjerei and the Zann Esu worried him only a small amount, for now that they were joining did he have a larger grasp on what was happening in the world. The two mage clans were too different in their core values to align naturally, so Faust knew that their had to be a unifying goal or objective in their alliance. Now Faust was pondering that purpose, If he could find it, then he would have an advantage.  
  
Faust's thoughts were interrupted suddenly by three figures quickly entering his room. Even though his concentration was broken, he couldn't help but smile at the three new arrivals. The shadows of the room clouded their features, but their auras and their postures were dead giveaways as to what they were. With a wave of his arms, Faust spoke;  
  
"Wow.. I didn't expect to see anyone here so soon... Please sit down, gentlemen." 


	7. Chapter 6: Idling

Chapter 6: Idling  
  
Faust had been held "captive" for a little over two hours, and night was beginning to fall. His captors hadn't been back to see him ever since the older sorceress had visited him, but he assumed that it was for all the better. No food was better than being fettered. Every few minutes or so he would look at the door of the prison, knowing full well that he could have left. However, he never moved from his spot on the bench. Something kept him from leaving. Something was telling him to stay, but he didn't know what. There were a few times when he had actually gotten up and opened the iron door of the prison, but then immediately shut it. An urge inside of him decided to stay, but that urge seemed vague and grey at best, with no real motive behind it.  
  
Faust began thinking to himself. The older sorceress had been very cryptic in her speech, and almost talked in riddles. What could the motive for Faust's presence here be? Faust's mage intuition told him that the sorceress had the potential to crush him at whim, but if so, what was he doing here? Could they being trying to get to his father? Who knew-- Faust's father had been uncharacteristically distant—Or more distant than normal, rather. Maybe the Zann Esu, which is what Faust identified these sorceress' as, were being particularly hostile. They had always made false claims that they had a hand in destroying the Prime Evils. They were always jealous of the sort of recognition the Priests were subject to after one o their own saved Sanctuary. But if this was to get at his father, why did they need Faust? It made no sense.. He needed answers.  
  
Finally determined to find these answers, Faust thrust open the door of his cell and began to walk out. The sky now burned with streaks of orange and magenta of the setting sun, but Faust had nowhere to go. All around him there were various huts that were all identical to the one he had been imprisoned in, giving him no idea where to start. Reluctantly he began to walk forward.  
  
However, he didn't get very far. He took a few steps out of his hut, when he was clubbed in the chest by a small, yet precise foot. Hurtling backwards, he thrust his hands out and was able to fall into a back flip, righting himself. It was just in time, too, for at that moment he had to duck a razor sharp blade that was aimed for his shoulder. He lashed out with a punch, only to have his hand sink rather fruitlessly into the links of ring mail. With an adrenaline rush of dire necessity, Faust backed up and released three Den'Trag at his adversary, causing her to back away in pain. Faust tried to shoot more, but the assailant pushed forward, knocking him on his back. Deftly, the attacker put their blade to his face. The attacker was now revealed to be feminine, if only by the tightness of her chain mail. With a harsh yet somewhat silky voice, she spoke to Faust;  
  
"Get back, now. I have orders to debilitate you if you do not comply."  
  
Now Faust was partly worried, and very confused. According to the older sorceress that had talked with him, he could have left. Why was this venerable guard keeping him at bay? These questions crept into his mind as he lay there, pinned by this hostile prison guard of sorts. Knowing that resisting would get him no where, or at least predicting that, Faust sighed, bowed his head in defeat, and lifted his hands in surrender. His assailant let him up, and without a word he walked back into his hut-cell. Looking back he could see that his strange guard had disappeared. He didn't know here name, but he guessed that she was one of the elusive Viz- Jaaq'Tar. That was even more puzzling, for the Viz-Jaaq'Tar were a division of the Vizjerei.. So why would they be allied with the Zann Esu?  
  
Faust didn't have long to ponder this, for soon a small clap of thunder sounded in the room, and the older sorceress he had talked to before had come in the room, but she had seemed older! Her faced was lined with minute wrinkles where there was once smoothness. Also, her hair had in it gleams of grey, like that of an older woman, and the tips were almost white!! What happened to her to make her so much older? There were so many questions!! With her the woman carried a tray, as well as something under her arm that Faust couldn't make out in the fading twilight. She set the tray down next to him on the bench in the hut, not commenting on him being in front of the cell instead of inside of it. Deciding to get some questions answered, Faust talked;  
  
"How long have I been here?"  
  
The old sorceress smiled back at him, a wonderful smile now that Faust had noticed it;  
  
"Only a few hours. It is still the same day as your battle with my apprentice outside of your mausoleum. Here's your evening meal."  
  
The tray contained a slab of veal, as well as a variety of vegetables and fruits local to the region of the Eastern Jungles. In a rather large tankard, there was also what Faust judged as water. Taking the provided silverware, Faust began eating the meal, and seemed to ignore the sorceress. However, she was still paying attention to him. Daintily, with more grace than her appearance suggested, the woman put a book next to the tray. Looking up at her in confusion, Faust saw her bat her hair and smile once more. The smile, Faust thought, was starting to look familiar... As if he had seen it years ago.  
  
"Begin looking at that... You're training starts tomorrow."  
  
With that, the sorceress left.  
  
Now Faust was genuinely dumbfounded. 


	8. Chapter 7: The Heir of Sigon

Chapter 7: The Heir of Sigon  
  
Night had fallen slowly on the Zann Esu sorceress camp, and even then the place seemed to be filled with an eerie supernatural light. This light gave Faust plenty of time to look over the tome he had been given, but what he found was very astonishing! The book itself was an aged, but still quite legible tome of necromancy!! This strange book, which Faust had seen many versions of in his father's tower, was filled with the secret arts, rituals, and techniques of the priesthood, down to the very most devastating spell! What was a potential threat like a Zann Esu sorceress clan doing with such a hallowed tome of knowledge? And furthermore, how would they "train" Faust using its methods? Did they plan to teach him his own art? That didn't seem possible-- The Zann Esu didn't dabble in the ways of Rathma.  
  
Regardless, Faust read on. He read past the Den'Trag and the Armor spell, he had already mastered those. He had dabbled in poisons himself, as well as summons and hadn't found them much to his liking. His only contention to the summoning art was that it would allow him to eventually raise the dead, albeit a shadow of them, so he would give them some thought. However, his true passion lay in wielding the ethereal energies of the magical plain. He saw a multitude of spells in front of him, but none could he see that he was ready to master. He tried forming a Talon of Trang'Oul, the spear like spell that his father had pinned his arm with, but he was only able to get a Den'Trag sized projectile. Sure, it was more dense and powerful than the Teeth of the Dragon themselves, but he couldn't propel it using the magical force the text alluded to. He would need more magical training.  
  
He turned then to the summoning section. His cousin Raeson probably lived by this part of the tome. Mages and regular skeletons were not a problem to produce, even though Faust himself could only produce one or two of each, and his weren't particularly fearsome the way Raeson's were. Raeson had obviously delved into the Mastery of these skeletons more than Faust had, but that wasn't important in the necromancer's mind. As far as summoning was concerned, making something from nothing was a much more promising endeavor. Faust had been able to make a golem like object out of the dirt and mud of the earth, and that was something Raeson hadn't shown yet, so that was promising. Faust was now quickly struck with an idea, but dismayed as he saw that his cell was plated firmly in brick and mortar, no mud or dirt to be seen. Faust flipped through the pages, and after reading some more was quietly pleased. There was no dirt, but the bars of the cell just happened to be made of iron...  
  
Blood, sweat, but no tears covered the paladin's body as he converged among the camp. He had heard of a gathering against the growing evil of the world, and the elders of his weakened religion had bid him to seek out the Zann Esu camps near here to lend his assistance. Both he and the elders could sense that something big was coming on the horizon, and they knew that help would be needed. He had traveled a short distance from his homeland of Kurast, but the road was treacherous, for it seemed that the minions of Hell could not stay away from the temples of the Zakarum. Now it was time for the paladins of Zakarum to fulfill the call they had ignored ten years ago... Hopefully, the package, which bobbed rhythmically against his thigh, would be enough to prove his worth.  
  
The assassin Ilfe sat, poised and hidden in her guard post on top of the cell roof. The prisoner she guarded now and had guarded earlier today was obviously very important to the sorceresses that ran this camp, for he was under very tight security. Unlike the other prisoners, this one was put under the charge of two Viz-Jaaq'Tar guards like Ilfe and her superior, Quirrari. Things had been crazy ever since trouble was reported in the Isles of the Warrior Women, and now the great mage clans were gathering again, but whether or not they were facing an evil or just panicking from the leftovers of the Hell Days had yet to be seen. If Ilfe had recalled, however, there were still two of the Lesser Evils around that were willing and able to cause chaos in order avenge their Prime Evil brethren. Azmodan and Belial still ravaged the world of the living, but their exploits were just now coming to light.  
  
In a few minutes, she started detecting a movement from outside the camp... Something was coming this way. However, what she didn't detect was the presence of Quirrari, who happened to appear by her side as if she came out of thin air. Ilfe was startled, yes, but she knew enough from her teachings now that she couldn't flinch. Her superior looked at her with a grim look, so Ilfe knew that something was up. Slowly she turned her head to face her elder, who spoke to her in a terse manner.  
  
"We have a visitor coming, I have seen him while I was on my reconnaissance mission ... A paladin from Zakarum."  
  
"That's nice. What does it have to do with anything?"  
  
"He's very strong... Almost as strong as me, I measure. He would have to be, because I think he saw me.. He has a certain aura about him too... It's strange."  
  
"Permission to opinionate, ma'am."  
  
"I already know what you are going to say, and I know that they have deities that lend them special spiritual fields that alter their aura, but this is different. He's probably going to present his services to the Elders, tonight."  
  
"I have a charge to watch."  
  
"Very well."  
  
The area where her teacher and superior officer had been sitting was suddenly cloaked in a stark darkness, and soon Quirarri began to fade away, and then she was gone. Now alone, Ilfe sighed to herself. She too had felt the 'aura' that her teacher had talked about, and she had to admit that it was something strange. She didn't feel to comfortable about it either. Now thinking back to her charge, she realized that he had been quiet. She had seen the sorceress Erias, the youngest Elder of the Zann Esu, go into his cell earlier to deliver some food and some other object, of whose nature Ilfe couldn't have been sure. To check up on him, she placed her ear to the roof of the cell, and she began to hear the sounds he was making. Just the gentle flip, flip, flip... He was reading a book. Impatiently Ilfe sat and retained her guard position. For some reason, he annoyed her. She let out a sigh; something was up with this priest and she would find out.  
  
Aurthor slowly walked into the temporary camp of the Zann Esu. Now the heavy plate armor that he normally wore with such ease was taxing him greatly, and his sword almost touched the ground as he held it, unsheathed in case he met any danger on the way over to the camp. Not only was his equipment taxing, but so was the special...parcel he carried on his person. When he entered the camp he figured that it would be safe enough to give up his defenses, so he sheathed his longsword, which was said to contain the very plague of Hell, but propped up the Tower shield that was inherent to his house of paladins, for it had been passed down ever since the original wielder had been made famous. He hadn't waited long before a lady clad in chain mail and carrying a set of sheathed wrist-claws with a shield on her back came to see him.  
  
"Ho weary child of Zakarum! You are no doubt weary from your journey! Please follow me to one of the vacant tents. If you wish you can make yourself known to everyone at the camp today, or wait until tomorrow."  
  
Aurthor sighed, and then followed the woman. When she showed him the room, there wasn't much he felt like doing. After taking off his armor, and laying his weapons down by the armor itself, he voluntarily crashed onto the cot that was the bed. It would have been more proper to introduce himself before zonking out on the bed, but he had to admit that tomorrow was another day. The package wouldn't move, so he didn't have to, either. 


	9. Chapter 8: Tidings From The Zakarum

Chapter 8: Tidings from the Zakarum  
  
When Faust woke up at the dawn of the next morning, it was apparent that something in the camp was different. For one, he had accidentally walked outside of his cell, and he wasn't viciously attacked! After walking out of his cell he stopped and waited, but there was no sign of the Viz- Jaaq'Tar. Something was awry, as shown by the piercing silence that filled the usually bustling camp of magic users. Slowly he craned his head over the territory of the camp, but still he saw nothing. He knew everything had to be okay, for the Cycle would have told him if there had been a massive amount of death in the area. Something was strange, out of the ordinary. He decided to investigate.  
  
He began to slowly walk around the myriad of tents and things that lay about the camp, but so far he hadn't heard a soul. He was starting to wonder if everyone had just left, and kept him there to be stranded, but that didn't make much sense. He had heard of the nomadic tribes that sometimes roamed the Eastern Jungles, but there was something about this certain crew that didn't give him that impression. For some reason he got the feeling that they were staying here for a higher purpose, he just didn't know what. Still wandering, he passed by a small tent covered in furs and leathers, only to see a plume of steady grey smoke rise from a tent nearby. Knowing that that would be where the others were, Faust followed the smoke to its source...  
  
Aurthor had woken up at the crack of dawn, like he normally did. However, last night was different in the fact that he actually got a good nights rest, away from the nightmares of the demons he had to face in his waking hours and his dreams. There was a small mirror near his bed, and after looking into it he could see that the bags were beginning to fade from his eyes, and they were also looking a little less bloodshot. That was a relief. One of the attendants, or someone who had felt especially kind, had brought in for him a rather large washbasin. Deciding to make use of it, he took a nearby rag and dipped it into the water. A strong, yet refreshing aroma assaulted his nostrils as he wiped the cloth over his body. Apparently, there was some type of scented soap. However, this was no ordinary soap. No doubt blessed by the sorceress who brewed it, the cleansing liquid seemed to soothe and relax him as it absorbed into his skin. After that quick bath, he noticed a fresh change of clothing for him, and put it on as well. Fine cloth, he could tell, something that would last very long, even in the fields populated by demons.  
  
Next, by pure instinct, he started to slip his armor on, and then he stopped and thought about that. Would it really be necessary? In the end he decided that, even if it wasn't necessary, it was probably the better thing to do. The heavy plate armor and shield seemed to be a sort of security for him now, so he really didn't feel comfortable leaving it off. After all, sometimes it was the only thing between him and a rendezvous with the High Heavens. The heavy weight of his body armor, boots, gloves, belt, shield, and helmet gave him a feeling of safety that wasn't found anywhere else, so he put them all on, and then he strapped his long sword, whose runed blade said "Hellplague". This gave him an imposing and grim appearance to anyone who didn't know what sort of warrior lie underneath the cold steel of the armor and the weapons, but that was just the sort of appearance he needed. What he had seen needed to get out to this group of people, who he knew could do something about it.  
  
Walking from his tent, he could see that even in the early morning the camp was bustling with activity. Many, many of the camps inhabitants were bustling about doing daily chores, practicing their craft, or just simply meditating in the middle of the storm of people. Aurthor could see that he was a glaring distraction to their regular routine, their shocked faces revealed that emotion. He needed to find the tent where the elders resided, he had something important to show them...  
  
!!!  
  
He had forgotten it in his room! This "package" he had was something very important! The elders had to see it, or his story would have no weight at all! Running back to his hut, he grabbed it, its contents still jumbling around in the small sack. The sack wasn't very large,, only about the size of a rather large melon , but it still moved furiously, and garbled speech could be heard coming from inside. However, all over the sack there were ancient runes and spells that were performing their duty by keeping the thing contained.  
  
Aurthor hadn't traveled far before someone took notice of him. An old sorceress, her long hair aged to a complete grey hue, saw him in his armaments and with his cargo. In a flash and a small boom of thunder, she appeared right next to him and whispered quietly in his ear;  
  
"I received word of your arrival last night, with the rest of the elders. We are all very anxious, along with the rest of our clan, to hear your story. Meet us in the Elder tent immediately. You will know it when you see it, and tell no one of this meeting."  
  
Before Aurthor could reply, there was a flash and another crack. The Elder was gone. Now all Aurthor had to do was find the tent the old woman had mentioned, and he could get his story out. But which one was the Elder tent? Not knowing which tent the elder was referring to; Aurthor began to look around the camp. Surely the tent of the elders would be marked by some distinguishing symbol? Perhaps a rune, or a location. Aurthor even ventured to think that may be the Elder tent would be much, much larger than the rest of the tents, but of course that seemed too obvious for these sorts of people. There was nothing, no sign, no distinguishing feature—on any of these tents that could lead Aurthor to thinking one of them was the 'Elder tent'... He would have to ask someone.  
  
He turned to find a suitable guide to help him... But they were all gone! All around him, the once bustling camp had become extremely vacant, no sort of activity whatsoever. He could have sworn that everything had been suddenly transported away, except...  
  
One of the tents emanated a red light!  
  
Walking over to the tent, Aurthor could see that it was a portal, but to where?  
  
A flashback hit him like a brick. The portal to Sin's Antechamber... The final show down that liberated his county torn by evil...  
  
He was back in the real world now. He shook his head, and then sighed. That was months ago. Now he was here, away from the terrors that had once again inhabited his lands. Mephisto had sowed his seeds of hate, but Aurthor had reaped Sin from his country, bringing it at peace. With this air of confidence, he entered the portal, completely unaware of the second person in the camp, who had followed right behind him...  
  
Faust had wandered around the camp for what seemed like an eternity, and  
he had yet to turn up anything that showed any sign of human life. He  
had seen a tent with a plume of smoke climbing out of its open top, so he  
had thought that maybe that was where the rest of the camp had gone. But  
it was such a small looking tent! There was no way in all of Sanctuary  
that so many people could have met there, so where did they go?  
Following the smoke to its source, he saw that the tent was much larger  
than he had thought, but still not big enough for the whole camp!  
Strangely enough, it also seemed to be the same size as every other tent  
in the area. Something made it different from the others, something  
Faust couldn't quite put his finger on. In order to get a better view of  
the tank, he decided to move closer to the tent..  
  
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a giant, metallic hulk walked near the portal,  
causing Faust to stumble backward. Who—What was that? It reminded him  
of the golems his father was capable of making out of the very ores of  
the Earth itself. Could his father have sent it? Perhaps his father  
was looking for him. A sudden wave of fear washed over Faust,  
immobilizing him. For some reason, he didn't want to leave this place.  
There was something about it that was... Endearing to him.  
  
Somehow, his fear had heightened his senses, but soon that fear had  
lifted. In that brief, fearful moment, he saw that what he feared wasn't  
in fact, a golem that could have been sent by his father, but rather, it  
was a man! Clad in silvery steel armor, the man was carrying something,  
and walking towards the portal. Could this man be responsible for the  
disappearance of the whole camp? Death was unlikely, as the Cycle told  
him. But it was completely possible that this man had actually hoarded  
them all into the portal, but in the end, Faust could see that this  
tangent was equally faulty. The only way to find out, would be to go  
inside. He wouldn't have been surprised if that portal had taken him  
into the bowels of hell itself, so he had to be mentally prepared.  
Recalling all of his spells, most of which would probably be useless if  
this person had done what he suspected, he walked into the portal with an  
air of confidence. He ended up...  
  
In a meeting hall.  
  
Faust looked around and he quickly saw that this was where the rest of  
the camp had ended up. All around him there were sorceresses, elders,  
assassins. They were lined up on chairs that were formed like steps  
carved in the halls, all of which lined the walls of the giant meeting  
area. The room was domed, with a central platform in front of the large  
group of chairs. The central platform itself had two tiers. One tier  
was a large, open, stage type area whose centerpiece was a moderate sized  
table, meant for displaying things, Faust thought. The second tier of  
the central platform, almost like a second step below the first, was only  
slightly smaller than the top tier, but it housed a longer, more formal  
table, outfitted with nine regal, but not extravagant chairs, all of  
which faced the larger platform. Inside eight of those chairs sat eight  
aging adults, male and female, whom Faust guessed had to be in their late  
sixties to mid seventies. Those were the youngest ones, anyway. It  
certainly would be a feat of magic if fossils like this had stayed alive  
for so long! The ninth chair was vacant for some reason; the easiest  
guess being of course that the ninth elder wasn't here yet. Faust  
deduced that the elders must have sat at the table simply because of  
their old age.  
  
Looking around, Faust could see that even though he was almost directly  
in front of the main group of meeting attendees, that they had yet to see  
him. In order to keep this sort of 'advantage', he moved into the  
darkness of a corner of the room, effectively cloaking himself in the  
darkness of the shadows. As he moved, he was able to see the large  
central platform much more easily, but it wasn't something he had  
expected. The Elder's table was fixed on the other side of the room, in  
front of the natural seats where the rest of the camp was sitting. Then,  
in front of the Elders on the second, higher platform, there was the iron  
behemoth! However, now it seemed that he had taken his helmet off.  
Since he was facing away from Faust, all he could tell was that the man  
had been tanned from living wherever it was that he lived. His hair was  
also curly, and densely packed around his head. He seemed impatient, with  
his body fidgeting around, and the ever-so-often pacing he would do  
across the platform. Faust thought he saw something on the table, like a  
bag or something—but it was moving! That thing was perhaps why this  
meeting of sorts was being held, so Faust decided not to consider what  
had been inside it. Something was holding up the meeting though, or  
otherwise he was sure that everyone would know what that "thing" was  
right now.  
  
Faust could see the Elders, and the fact that they were locked in some  
heated discussion. Heads and arms moved about, stressing opinions of one  
side or another; Faust couldn't hear what they were saying at all over  
the low roar of the other viewers. A large group of the spectators had  
been watching the elders carefully; obviously they were discussing  
something important to the meeting. Faust decided that now would be the  
best time to study these elders, for they would be very important to the  
clan's workings, so it would be best that they are known. The first of  
the nine sat in the chair farthest to the left, on Faust's side, anyway.  
She was old, Faust guessed about sixty-five. Her hair was a dull grey,  
but her facial features were chiseled on from many years of living and  
learning. Her robes were that of a brilliant red and blue, signifying to  
Faust that perhaps this certain elder could control the forces of the  
elements ice and fire. The one right next to her was slightly older,  
with a small hunch in her back, and with smooth white hair. This person  
had a completely yellow robe on, allowing Faust to make a reasonable  
conclusion about her skill. The next woman looked frail, like she was  
about to break. Her blue and yellow robe made Faust think of the  
coldness of winter and the rumble of thunder in the jungle. The final  
Elder he saw on the left side of the table was the only man present with  
the elders. Obviously a Vizjerei, he seemed fidgety, like he was afraid  
of something that may be in the room. Faust didn't have to guess what it  
was. There was another, much larger chair, and then four more elders,  
all of which were equally old and dressed in blue, purple, yellow and  
white, with the one it white being closest to the large chair in the  
center. They had gone on for a few minutes in this manner of arguing,  
but then it suddenly came to a halt, and the Elder in white stood up and  
spoke in an extremely terse and commanding manner;  
  
"With the ninth Elder absent, we have declared decorum and will begin the  
council immediately. Don Donathan Aurthor, would you please explain  
yourself."  
  
The Elder's words had formed the body of a completely legitimate  
question, but Don Aurthor knew that she was making a command. With a  
sigh, a tortured sigh, he turned from his pacing and his thoughts and  
faced the now silent group of sorceresses, sorcerers, mages, scribes, and  
even assassins that were gathered in the meeting hall, all eager to here  
what he had to say. The contents of his most-important bag still wiggled  
furiously on the table, but that was the only disturbance in the hall.  
The garbled speech cut through the hall, but it was soon stopped by  
Aurthor's voice;  
  
"My brothers and sisters... I have come here on a most perilous journey  
from my tragically desecrated country of Kurast. As you all know, ten  
years ago, Kurast was raped and pillaged by the scourge of Hatred, and  
made the puppet for Terror and Destruction, and we Paladins of Zakarum,  
sworn protectors of the city, were nowhere to be seen. We had a city to  
protect, but we had abandoned all faith in it. The Prime Evil Mephisto  
had worked his magic and hatred into a Compelling Orb, a device which  
brainwashed and possessed us to the point of non-servitude. With our so  
called 'great' and equally corrupt council held at the will of Mephisto,  
we only watched as our city was reclaimed by other braver, stronger, more-  
willed heroes. I am here now as a representative of that long-shamed  
order. I, Don Authour Donathan of the House of Sigon have journeyed here  
to recall a tale of horror not unlike the events of the last decade. For  
it seems that the Holy Land of Zakarum was once again, and always will be  
the target of evil. When Hatred sows its seeds, it is certain that Sin  
will come to reap...."  
  
"I had been only a lad of fourteen when Diablo first spread his reign of  
evil over the Westmarch for the first time. All of Zakarum had heard of  
the evil he had deployed over the land, but we thought that we were too  
protected, too holy for such an evil to fall upon us. Sure, the elders  
knew of the terrible soulstone which housed Diablo's eldest brother  
Mephisto, and some even knew of Baal who lie in Tal Rasha's tomb in the  
desert, but not even they suspected that the evils that were the Prime  
Evils would ever succeed in their conquest of the world. We could have  
sent our own warriors in a search and destroy party to the palace of the  
royal family, and we, with the help of the warrior, we could have  
defeated Diablo without him possessing a newer, stronger body. We didn't  
think we needed to be involved, we thought that Diablo had become too  
weak for the Soulstone's magic. We didn't take into account what years  
of corruption would do to the stone, we were even so shortsighted as to  
realize that Mephisto was doing that exact same thing to the stone that  
he was imprisoned in.  
  
Mephisto's takeover had been a long and grueling process for the demon,  
but when it happened, it was as quick as a flash. The elders, excluding  
Khalim, were all corrupted and bent into Mephisto's will. The dissonance  
between the Elders was enough to make us completely useless. Without our  
council, we could do nothing. Because of this, we hid there was nothing  
for us to do. Could we rebel against our own leaders? In our fit of  
indecision, we made no progress. Some of us were even.."recruited" to  
Mephisto's side of evil. However, many of us also stayed adamant in our  
teachings. Still, unable to act, we hid. I was too young to accomplish  
anything, but how I had wanted to! When Mephisto's evil washed over our  
land, I wanted nothing better to go out there and purge the land myself.  
However, I knew I would be useless.  
  
We all rejoiced when Mephisto had been destroyed. We quickly moved back  
to our settlements, but little did we know what was in store for us.. We  
had been back to our way of life for the next nine years. Our land grew  
back again, and bore fruit. Even more fruitful was the progress our  
religion and government had made. Now we lived more strictly by the  
religious principles themselves, and no longer under the strict rule of  
an easily corruptible group of older beings. With our religion to guide  
us, no lack of leadership would prevent us from doing what was right.  
Our guard was strengthened as well. Because of this guard, I was trained  
for those nine grueling years, and I had risen to the highest of my rank  
in the caste of warriors. It was then that my ancestor's relics were  
chosen to be mine, the set of Sigon's Full Steel. All was good for  
almost a decade, and then later this year...  
  
Mephisto wasn't the only evil to invade our lands. For soon after our  
period of rest, came... Azmodon. Lord of Sin, he terrorized our lands with  
his armies and terrible influence. Once again, our very culture had been  
corrupted. This time, however, more of my brothers were taken in by the  
demon's spells and wickedness. We were now forced to fight each other on  
our own ground, to fight again to the Durance, now filled with Sin in all  
its fury. I battled with many friends, comrades in arms, everyone of  
them, and the horrors they brought on our land were just horrible...I have  
come here to warn you all of the tidal wave of Hell's minions that are on  
their way. The Worldstone's collapse has caused all this, and we must  
fight it, or be damned forever!!!!"  
  
The paladin's story ended, and at once the hall filled with a silent,  
controlled, but undeniable, panic. As all of this was said, the bag  
still sat, squirming, and squirming, stronger and stronger by the second.  
If one had felt the room and observed it, one would have guessed that it  
was feeding off of these primal emotions of fear, despair, and panic... 


	10. Chapter 9: Sin Unveiled

Chapter 9: Sin Unveiled  
  
The hall was now silent, but Penelope could feel the fear and despair  
from her sisters and peers. Quite truly, she herself felt the same body-  
numbing fear, the same chill. The Lesser Evils, well, two of them at  
least, were now roaming the world and spreading their own brand of  
misery, which Penelope guessed wouldn't be that much different from their  
older cousins. For now everyone had kept their cool, and that was  
something to be thankful for! Penelope looked down on the table, and  
like the others, she couldn't help but notice the strange looking parcel  
that jumped and jumbled all over the table... Was it getting stronger?  
Whatever was in there, Penelope had a feeling that she wouldn't like it.  
  
She looked again in the direction of the platform, but this time at the  
speaker himself. He was an older man, somewhere in his mid twenties,  
basically in middle age. The retelling of his story seemed to have  
depressed him, for now he was holding his head in front of his face, and  
his body was convulsing every now and then. Penelope couldn't help but  
feel sorry for him, for she had seen what such a journey could do to  
someone. Penelope had seen Erias, her teacher and mentor often times  
break down because of flashbacks, old memories, and such. Oh how she  
hated evil!!!  
  
The silence had lasted only a minute before someone had finally spoke up.  
It is common human reaction to begin denying the truth in the face of  
fear, and this was what seemed to happen in the meeting hall. Someone,  
whether it be an assassin, a sorceress, or a Vizjerei spoke out,  
challenging the truth of this story, saying it was false. Like a tidal  
wave, such opinions and their counters washed over the room, enveloping  
all in a steady stream of noise. This noise had gone on for a while, and  
it seemed like the paladin couldn't take it any more. He gripped his  
ears like a madman, and crouched down where he stood. Finally, as if he  
had finally broken, he let out a long scream, a shriek so terrible and  
anguished that the whole hall went silent as a crypt.  
  
"Enough!!!" The paladin screamed;  
  
"If none of you believe me.."  
  
Now the paladin was walking towards the table in the center of his  
platform, where the bag was resting;  
  
"If you do not believe me then I will show—"  
  
He stopped suddenly. Without warning, a black fire enveloped the bag,  
first melting away the dark inky spots of the protective runes, and then  
fraying away the cloth of the bag itself. With that single ebony flame,  
the world was witness to one of the most horrible things in history once  
more, for now everyone in the room; sorceress, assassin, and sorcerer was  
now gaping into the living, breathing, live head of Azmodan, the Lord of  
Sin. His head was of black, leathery skin, while his ears were pointed  
and wide like that of a bat, but they looked more like horns. His  
leather skin was molded around what seemed to be a rather rectangular  
shaped skull, with a misshaped size and back. His eyes were a sunken  
deep into the skull, and seemed to bee almost pure darkness themselves,  
with a small white pupil. The tongue of the head was long and forked,  
and the small dark lips were formed into a twisted smile. The room was  
utterly silent for what seemed like an eternity, but then the head spoke;  
from its mouth bellowed an awful, horrible, completely earsplitting yell  
of is own. Its eyes scanned the whole room itself, giving everyone  
access into its evil eyes. When it looked upon their faces all it could  
see was terror, and it laughed.  
  
"Puny mortals, I am Azmodan, Lord of Sin and master of this world!! You  
will all worship me, or die!!!!"  
  
Before anyone else in the room could respond or react, the heads maw  
gaped open, revealing rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth, all grossly  
oversized and thin for a mouth that they had seen. Inside this mouth a  
fiery portal to the very gates of Hell seemed to be open before them, and  
into the room poured demons of indescribable terror. Fallen lesser  
demons, Succubi of Azmodan's own harem, Unravellers that were Azmodan's  
own personal attendants, Higher Demons that were privy to only the  
highest levels of Hell, as well as Azmodan's own twisted Sinful Legions.  
Undead souls from the Sin Wars and spanning all times, their skeletal  
frames showed the talents of both warriors and mages. Within seconds  
hundreds of these creatures had poured into the hall with a bloodlust  
and craving for battle that transcended a millennia.  
  
Penelope thought quickly, and the only thing she could think to do was to  
attack. Firing a single bolt of lightning from her palm, she happen to  
kill a row of three Fallen demons. This number was only an insignificant  
fraction of the total, for the hall now had more demons inside it then  
people!! Enraged by the loss of some of their 'brothers', the rest of  
the demons charged with unforeseen rage. Nothing the people in the hall  
could have imagined or trained with could have prepared them for this  
image. Imagine over hundreds of Hell's minions staring you right in the  
face, wanting nothing more than to vivisect you and feast on your living,  
pulsating guts. Penelope, as well as the others in the audience stands  
were frozen in terror, but ten people in the room were not. Their years  
of working with their craft had honed their skills to the point where  
they were able to call on them, even in a moment like this.  
  
The first were the eight elders. In a spectacular show of skill, the old  
Vizjerei mage crafted a large magical bubble all around the Elders, which  
also acted to protect the people in the stands behind. So great was the  
elder's control over his ability, that his shield had gained the trait of  
a semi-permeable membrane, it was able to allow certain types of forces  
in and out, while to others it barred all access. Because of this, it  
gave the Elders a perfect environment to weave their craft. Brilliant,  
almost majestic phenomenon were now happening all over the room, from  
thunderous meteors to frigid thunderstorms, the demons almost seemed to  
be off of their guard, and it looked as if they were retreating!!  
  
The ninth person to react in tandem with the elders was Quirarri. The  
elder Viz-Jaaq'Tar was by Ilfe's side for only a second when the demons  
emerged, and she was gone. She appeared in a split second beside one of  
the more troublesome Unravellers, who was soon kicked forcefully into a  
group of other demons. The elder demon toppled backward, crushing  
another group of his own minions. Quirrari had only allowed the demon to  
be on the ground for a second, and then the razor sharp blades of her tri-  
bladed wrist weapon into his throat, killing him. The next second, she  
was up fighting demons and monsters once more, her single blade and  
shield a flurry of motion as she sliced through the multitude of demons.  
Like a demon herself, she was giving the demons mixed emotions, for they  
couldn't tell if she was one of their own, or an enemy.  
  
On a lesser note, Faust had been the first person overall to react to the  
outpoor of demons. His work and life experience had left him nothing to  
fear from the threats of the demon horde. Undaunted, he sent wave after  
wave of Den'Trag into the coming waves of the demons. He had moved from  
his original position and was now in the heat of the battle, on the side  
of the rest of the incoming fury of creatures. Where were they all  
coming from? Was Hell emptying its coffers? He himself had succeeded in  
herding some of the demons into a smaller group, but they were still  
coming on strong from all fronts.  
  
Azmodan was annoyed. These puny mortals, just ten for the time being,  
were putting up a fair fight against his own legions of Sin!! This would  
not do!! Using a demonic form of telepathy, he began calling over a  
demon known as a Venom Lord. Greatest of the great demons, this demon  
would prove perfect for what he had planned...  
  
The ten people didn't have to hold off the demons by themselves for long!  
Soon the others assassins, mages, and sorcerers had realized the danger  
to a more real level, and they had seen that demons were still mortal.  
With a fury equal to their predecessors, they attacked. The sorceresses  
launched their own methods of attacks through magic, while other  
assassins had jumped into the fray with their leader. Ilfe, however, had  
stayed back purposefully with a group of a dozen or so assassins for some  
purpose. That had yet to be revealed, but the apparatae on their persons  
gave some sort of hint.  
  
Azmodan was lucky. No one had noticed his most powerful High Demon  
walking towards the table and picking up his head. This would be  
perfect! Soon it would be time to wreak his own form of havoc on the  
mortals. Slowly, but surely, the demon began to place Azmodan's head on  
top of his own. Acting like some warped organic helmet, Azmodan soon  
enveloped the demon's cranium entirely. Now the demon was squirming and  
clawing at Azmodan's head furiously, but to no avail! The demon had a  
new body now, and he would make use of it. Soon black leathery, almost  
armor-like skin covered the green flesh of the original demon, and the  
body became slender, but denser with muscle. The wings of the demon  
stayed intact, but instead of the conventional demon claws there were now  
large, large talons, which were as hard as steel and almost scythe like  
in design. The lord of Sin was back, and this time, he had a body!!!!  
  
---  
  
Correck V'Arr, the Vizjerei elder, was in for a moment of shock when the  
new Azmodan appeared. Seeing the demon there in the 'flesh' wasn't  
enough to topple him then, but the next action was. Pointing one long  
finger at the old man, Azmodan sent a seething bolt of energy right  
through his barrier, sending the elderly man reeling. As he recovered  
from the shock of the blow, Correck could feel his shield waning. Could  
he hold the demon by himself? The elders were doing their best to fight  
off the horde of demons, but nothing seemed to ebb their tide. The portal  
the demon had produced seemed to be its own entity now, so the demons  
just kept coming!! Correck had no choice but to try to outlive the  
storm.. Where on this Earth was the High Elder!!??  
  
Penelope was covered in sweat, and almost exhausted. She had been  
fighting the demons with her Zann Esu and Vizjerei partners for only  
minutes, but they were still beginning to weigh on her mana. The portal  
was never absent of a fiend, or group of fiends, and monsters were being  
resurrected faster than they could destroy them! Thank the Heavens for  
Correck V'Arr! The skillful mage had been all that had kept them alive  
in the struggle, but he was only one man in the end. Azmodan would  
outlast him soon if nothing was done! Penelope looked across at the  
portal where the demons were appearing.. What was it that she saw?  
Another portal? Who could be coming through??  
  
Raeson Schelockna looked at his compatriot and smiled a devious smile,  
which was returned by his companion. Slipping on their identical helmets  
made of the skulls of demons, they both waited. It was time the Zann Esu  
and Vizjerei had a taste of true dominance, but it would be better to  
wait...  
  
Faust could only stare in horror as the Lesser Evil finally acquired a  
body of his own. This battle was useless! There was nothing they could  
do to stop these demons!!! Something had to be done to save them all  
before they were killed, but there was nowhere to run! Demons flooded  
everywhere—Everywhere! Taking another swig of a mana potion, Faust let  
loose another salvo of Den'Trag, missiles from the corporeal plain that  
were doing their job at producing... Faust looked down, and paused for a  
second, how could he have been so stupid!?  
  
The dead produced corpses!!!  
  
Azmodan was nearing his goal. The old Corrack V'Arr was a cunning mage,  
yes, but even he could not stand up to the psychic blasts of Azmodan!  
Again and again Azmodan pummeled the man's mind, over and over again  
denting him, denting him, but he wouldn't break!! He was only and old  
man, but his resilience was amaz-THERE! A hole in the man's magic  
defenses! Azmodan's incessant attacking had worked! With even more  
force, he attacked the man's weak point, causing a searing pain that even  
he could feel the traces of.  
  
Corrack V'Arr was a man, a brilliant man at that, but even his magical  
prowess could not stand the blows of Azmodan!! It had only taken the  
demon a few mind blows to reduce the old man to his knees, and his shield  
reflected this. He tried with all his might to hold it, but he  
couldn't....Darkness flooded his view.  
  
Ilfe and the group of a dozen or so assassins was on the ready when they  
saw the magical shield flicker. Corrack V'Arr was almost gone magically,  
and without him the Elders were in major peril. This was where Ilfe and  
her crew came in. Even though everyone else in the crew was older than  
she was, Ilfe was known for her cunning work as a leader, so she was  
given the most privileged position in the crew; they were the Elder  
Guards. After the shield went down, and Corrack V'Arr had fallen to the  
floor, Ilfe and her assassins were already in front of the elders.  
Grouping all eight of them together, they, or those that were able, cast  
innumerable bladed probes into the air, enchanted items of the Vizjerei.  
These items floated around the group, protecting them from any advances  
by the enemy. Ilfe reached into her armor, and pulled out a blue  
lettered scroll. After uttering the word found on its surface, the  
scroll disappeared and so did the Elders and part of their guard in a  
flash of blue light.  
  
It had taken Donanthan Aurthor a while to regain his senses. After his  
nervous collapse, he had been on the floor, with demons swirling all  
around him, but never daring to touch him. They saw the incinerated  
remains of their comrades who had gotten too close, so they felt it best  
to stay away themselves. After remaining consciousness, Aurthor seemed  
to know what had happened. Instantly he drew his sword, Hellplague, and  
sliced the head of a Fallen clean off. His shield was by his side, so he  
quickly picked it up, and armed himself against the sea of demons that  
would have liked nothing better than to tear out his throat. With his  
large tower shield in hand, it seemed as if no demon could break through  
his defenses. One would try, then get smote right into the demons behind  
him, disabling more than just the demon who was hit in the first place.  
He himself had proven quite an adversary for the demons, even if he was  
only mortal. With powerful strokes of his sword and shield, he was able  
to show the demons the true strength of Zakarum!  
  
Azmodan had felt another magical presence in the room of the battle. He  
had seen the second portal appear, but it did not seem to be a threat.  
However, its magical signature was very different than something he would  
normally have encountered in a place like this. Normally the auras of  
Vizjerei, Zann Esu, Heralds, and even assassins had a more positive feel  
to them, but this aura was different. It wasn't negative or positive in  
magical alignment, almost puzzling. After scanning the room, however,  
Azmodan saw what the source of the aura was. A lone Priest of Rathma  
happened to be in the room, furiously fighting off demons with his  
ethereal projectiles. Neither side seemed to be making progress, so  
Azmodan decided to wreak a little havoc. With the elders gone, thanks to  
that accursed guard, he was now unable to complete the objective he had  
set, but that hadn't mattered, the target elder wasn't here anyway.  
  
With a snarl, he jumped into the air and took flight thanks to the wings  
of his new body, and with a fierce growl he landed in front of the  
necromancer. Wielding a single scythe like talon from his evil fist, he  
swiped at the necromancer, who ducked the blow. However, the  
necromancer's crouch sent him directly into Azmodan's stone-hard knee,  
knocking the wind out of him and sending him backward. As the young  
priest stood up and coughed out a little blood from his injured mouth,  
Azmodan smiled. He needed to vent his anger.  
  
Before Faust could actually commit his plan of setting the room alight in  
a blaze of exploding cadavers, he had attracted the attention of a much,  
much more fearsome foe. The Lord of Sin himself felt it necessary that  
he cause Faust at least as much torture as possible before taking out the  
rest of the sorceresses, if they were indeed his targets. The demon  
first attacked him with a claw, which Faust ducked. However, he could do  
little to stop the demon's supernaturally quick knee from slamming into  
his exposed face. Feeling his lips bust open, Faust couldn't help but  
touch them as he felt to the ground. He hit the stone floor with a hard  
thud, with bloody fingers. The dark image of the demon began to cower  
over him, shear pleasure, if that was indeed possible, decorating his  
face.  
  
"I wasn't able to accomplish my objective, and that displeases me so.."  
The demon said with a familiar snarl;  
  
"However, I will enjoy burning your very mind to make up for it!!! This  
is what happens when priests dabble in things they shouldn't!"  
  
Now Faust felt the unbearable pain in his mind. It was akin to white-hot  
flames of fire burning down the proverbial forest of his mind, in an  
attempt to leave it bare and empty, which would mean death. Now, it was  
not the death part Faust feared, but the pain of the demon's chosen  
method was completely indescribable in any form of writing. With a  
scream that would normally signal a thousand deaths, Faust clutched his  
head in agony as he prepared for darkness...Then there was a flash! And a  
crack of thunder! Immediately the pain stopped, and Faust, eyes closed,  
was able to hear the voice of the demon fill his ears, itself seeming to  
be marinated in terror;  
  
"E-Erias?? You..You have grown..."  
  
"Stronger." Came back the familiar female voice; it was the sorceress!!!  
Faust opened his eyes to see her standing their, calm despite the ruckus  
around her, staring down the profound evil. The demon's voice seemed to  
grow confident now, and he uttered in a boastful, yet slightly shaky  
voice;  
  
"Well, It's nice to see you here Erias.. I suppose you've come to see  
everyone before you die?"  
  
Faust saw Erias give a small chuckle at this, and she sighed.  
  
"You could say that.." She moved a little closer to Azmodan, and opened  
her palm up a bit;  
  
"If by that, you mean that I'm here to blow you back to the Burning  
Hells!!!"  
  
With that, a giant arc of lightning flew from her open palm, catching the  
demon off guard. His strong body flew into the stone wall at least one  
hundred feet away, taking a multitude of his minions with him. It seemed  
that the demon was up for more of a fight than he thought.  
  
Raeson looked back at his mysterious partner, who he knew only as the  
Apothecary. A third, unknown apprentice to Faust, this person was a  
rather strange necromancer, who specialized in the poison s of their  
religion. He could summon minions too, not as good as Raeson in the long  
run, but his summoning skills were deadly in conjunction with his  
poisonous blade. Both of them could feel the presence of a new  
individual, and it was powerful. His uncle had warned him of such a  
person, apparently they were a highly dangerous magic user. However, he  
also said that her appearance would be the time to strike. They were to  
work in conjunction with some other, mysterious party in order to destroy  
her. It seemed odd that the other party hadn't been mentioned except by  
that premise, but it wasn't Raeson's place to ask questions like that.  
With a determined nod, he stepped forward, directly followed by his  
silent companion.  
  
What they both saw was almost complete and total chaos. Behind the  
visors of their bony helms, they saw sorceresses, Vizjerei, and  
assassins, all fighting for their pathetic lives in a struggle against a  
set of the most horrible demons both of them had ever seen! With a grim  
grin, Raeson saw that these demons must have been the other 'mysterious  
party'. It also seemed like they were doing rather well. After scanning  
the room, he saw plenty of cadavers. Perfect. Raising his arm, wand in  
hand, he called upon the forces of the dead, and pulled a sextuple set of  
souls from that void of death. Exerting his will on their hopeless  
spiritual mass, he forced them into the skeletal remains of the dead  
demons on the floor, and molded their skeletal system to fit that of a  
human. Now he had six of his own servants, minions to do his work.  
Chuckling deeply, he turned to his apothecary friend, and nodded. The  
Apothecary himself motioned to the different corpses that littered the  
ground, and four such skeletons emerged for his use. Nodding to each  
other, they set to work.  
  
By this time, the other sorceress' and the mages, and the assassins had  
realized what they were doing there, and were on the attack. However,  
the skeletons had the drop on them. An assassin turned around in shock,  
only to have her jugular sliced by the bony scythe one of Raeson's  
skeleton's wielded. A surprised sorceress was successfully fending off  
on of the Apothecary's own skeleton's, but the poison of the  
necromancer's blade struck her down. Ah! The death that filled the room  
was refreshing to both of them... Then they felt something strange.  
Another one of them was present in this room.. Could it have been? Yes!  
It was! Good ole cousin Faust was right here in this battle-ridden  
chamber, and quite alive! Both of them looked at each other through  
their helmets of bone; that was something they would have to rectify.  
  
Penelope couldn't help but heave a heavy sigh when Erias had appeared.  
Her teacher was thought of as the most powerful wizard of their age, and  
perhaps ever. This was evident in her handling of Azmodan, short, quick,  
and easy. After sending him into the wall, she had just stood their,  
calm and collected. The demon was slowly getting up from his newfound  
crevice inside the stone wall of the hall, and he didn't seem to happy.  
Penelope saw Erias reach down into a small sheath on her leg before the  
demon had completely stood up. That was all Penelope saw of the battle,  
however, for soon she was attacked by another demon—or rather, a group of  
demons! Forced to fight of the minions of the evil Azmodan, she had to  
take her attention away from her mentor and concentrate on saving her own  
skin.  
  
Erias slowly withdrew the dagger she carried from its sheath on her leg.  
Made of the bone of a certain demon slain, the dagger had been imbued  
with power by a special Vizjerei wizard. Now Erias used the long spike  
in her hunt of the minions of evil, but the way she used it was somewhat  
unconventional. She began whirling the blade deftly in her small hand,  
but Azmodan of all beings could see the power she wielded. With dodging  
eyes he looked around the room, and he could see that one-on-one, he was  
between a rock and a hard place. As he began to back away from Erias and  
her weapon, he felt his demonic flesh collide with the stone of the  
warped wall, a wall malfigured from his sudden collapse into it. Having  
no other choice, he delved into his demonic magic, and created a  
teleportation field around all of his own minions. After the field was  
activated, all of Azmodan's minions created a venerable wall between  
himself and the sorceress. As the sorceress' companions moved closer to  
aid her, Azmodan could see her lift her free hand, stopping them.  
Apparently, she thought that she could handle all of these demons by  
herself.  
  
Of all of the people who rallied to defend Erias, Faust was not one of  
them. He would have been, of course, but he happened to be uncomfortably  
preoccupied at the time. He began running towards his other...allies at  
this time, however he was stopped!! Someone—Something wearing a helmet  
of bone, and a style of chain mail that was almost exactly like his own  
style of armor. With an air of alarm, he drew back from the individual,  
right into their skeleton minions!! The skeleton he ran into had an  
uncharacteristically strong grip, something that Faust wasn't really  
expecting. These skeletons were strong, very strong, Faust could tell by  
their structure. If the necromancer made this, he wasn't joking around  
with his art! Alarmed even more by the 'death grip' of the animated  
skeletal frame, Faust attempted to kick himself loose with no avail. He  
could see the necromancer looking at him, and he could hear his steps,  
even inside the tumultuous hall.  
  
"Hello Faust, you do not know me, but your father has missed you very  
much. He also, if I am not mistaken, does not want you to be with these  
other mages, for the safety of the Priests, of course. So..."  
  
"I'll have to kill you."  
  
Azmodan smiled ruefully at the sorceress, who was now surrounded by an  
innumerable amount of demons, with nothing but a puny bone dagger to  
assist her in her battle. Even if her facial features didn't show it,  
Azmodan could see tell that she was doomed, and perhaps she knew it, too.  
However, mortals were often observed as being what demons would call  
'retarded' when it came to their own eminent demise, so it wouldn't  
surprise him if she thought she could actually win. Off in the distance,  
Azmodan could see the arrival of two other necromancers! This was great,  
for he had been told that he would be given assistance. However; if  
'they' were already sending assistance, what would that mean for Azmodan?  
  
His smile widened, became slyer, and he spoke;  
  
"Be ready to feel the pain of death Erias!! There is nothing you and  
that little knife can do to stop my minions and me!! Besides, if you  
haven't noticed, your little necromancer is about to be killed by people  
of his own kind? Are you going to try to save him again? Hmmm? You  
sorceresses always did have a thing for fam-"  
  
Something about the demon's speech had finally struck the nerve it was  
targeting. In a moment's notice, Erias had dropped her calm cool  
composure, and her face was alive with fury;  
  
"THAT IS ENOUGH, AZMODAN!!" The words were said with such force that it  
seemed like the demons and their commander were pushed back, closer to  
the wall. The demons and spectators, however, seemed to write it off as  
an effect. They didn't want to take much notice of it. Erias's calm  
demeanor soon appeared again, and she was calm. Now she drew her  
attention to the blade she held in her hand, but she laid it flat in her  
palm.  
  
"You would be surprised, Azmodan..." A mischievous, taunting grin crossed  
her face; at the same time, the dagger she had laid in her palm began to  
float in the air, and before any one could see anything else, it was  
spinning!! It spun, and spun, faster and faster above her hand;  
  
"I can do much with this 'little knife'." And with that, the blade shot,  
almost of its own free will, into the crowd of demons, where it began  
slicing and carving as if wielded by a ghost. With alarming, almost  
unthinkable speed is moved quickly throughout the group of demons,  
dissecting, bisecting, maiming, and killing. All around the demons  
screamed as the magical blade rendered their flesh and bone, reducing  
their group to pure remains. Looking up at Azmodan, Erias smiled, and  
then beckoned her dagger back. It wiped itself clean, and landed back  
into its sheath, unscathed.  
  
The Elder Erias had captivated Donathan Aurthor as she decimated the  
demon horde without so much as a bead of sweat. He had been a fool to  
bring Azmodan here alive, but now he saw that he was even more of a fool  
for trying to kill all of them. So far there were a few deaths for their  
side, but not enough. Apparently the sorceress', mages, and assassins  
had been focusing on demon slaying ever since the Hell Days. Aurthor was  
well versed in fighting the minions of Hell himself, so he had been  
relatively unscathed. He could see now that Azmodan was on the run as  
far as fighting was concerned, and soon it would be time for Aurthor to  
finish what he had started on his first journey. Looking down, Aurthor  
saw that the large wooden hammer he had brought with him was still  
attached to his armor. The ancient hammer had been a part of his attire  
for so long that he hadn't acknowledged ever putting it on. However,  
this hammer would be duly important in time.  
  
Faust's adversary still had him trapped in the grip of one of his  
minions, and Faust could see that the other five skeletons of the  
necromancer were gathering around. This wouldn't be a fun thing to  
experience, for all of the skeletons were burly, like the men of the  
mountains Faust had heard about. This necromancer was obviously skilled,  
more skilled than Faust had originally given him credit for. There was  
no way that Faust himself could have taken all six of the necromancer's  
pets, and himself. His musings of his own death were cut short, however,  
as the necromancer let out a cackling laugh and then spoke;  
  
"I realize perfectly well that my minions are capable of crushing you as  
we speak, Faust, but I have a better idea for your fate. Instead of  
killing you by crushing every bone in your body, I've decided it would be  
better for you to have a poison so painful that you almost black out, but  
stay conscious through the pain. Your body will want to die, but it  
won't and you'll live through the torture of the poison.. Then, and only  
then will I have my minions crush every bone in your body!!!!" After  
this rant, another howling laugh left the lips of the crazed necromancer,  
and Faust was now genuinely afraid of this man. He could almost see the  
crazed smile in his imagined, featureless face. Slowly the man stepped  
back, but his skeleton still took hold. Behind him was the second  
necromancer. This necromancer, while attired similarly, had very  
different implements. At his sides were two sheaths, the one on the  
right very jagged and long, the other a straight point, and shorter than  
the other. He walked forward, and drew out the long dagger. Faust could  
see now that it was more like a short sword, but it was still too small  
to be qualified as one, if just by a small margin. The necromancer held  
the 'dagger to his face and showcased it to Faust in a delicate, almost  
loving manner;  
  
"It is a beautiful specimen.." The necromancer said in a very snakelike  
voice, or at least that was how Faust related it. Faust also got a  
better look at the dagger itself, and he could see that on its very hilt  
there was a row of small, but still razor-like knives. The necromancer  
stared at the dagger, almost analyzing it, and then he ran his fingers  
along the blade, gingerly, however, so he wouldn't cut himself;  
  
"The Jade Tan Do..." He said, in a voice full of reverence;  
  
"This blade is one of a kind, a present from my master. The very blade  
itself was imbued with a powerful poison by its crafter. Anyone it cuts  
already goes through the pain of the razor sharp blade, and of course the  
inlaid poison..."  
  
The necromancer began sifting through his pack, and he pulled out a small  
vile;  
  
"I'm sure you have heard of this, being a priest.. This vile contains  
the most powerful poison we are capable of producing, in fact, it is so  
powerful, that I will need to repair this blade after use, because the  
poison corrodes the blade so.. Prepare to feel the death of thousand!!"  
  
The necromancer popped the lid off of the vile and spread the poison on  
the blade and sides of the Jade Tan Do. The poison's presence on the  
blade was announced with a small hiss, and Faust could tell that he was  
in for a world of pain. At that time, all of the 'apothecary's' minions  
grabbed Faust, and the summoner's original minion let him go, because he  
wasn't needed. Now Faust couldn't even think of moving as the dagger  
zoomed toward him in a deadly arch that rained poison. He knew the  
others were too busy dealing with Azmodan to be of any assistance, so he  
braced himself and watched as the daggers jagged blade punctured skin...  
  
But not his!!! He opened his eyes wider to see that Erias, the sorceress  
elder, had once again saved his life, this time by taking the attack.  
Even for her, the poison was strong. She let out a scream that  
reverberated throughout the hall;  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"  
  
The pure pain even caused both of the hostile necromancers to cringe,  
even though they had expected something similar to Erias' reaction. As  
the sorceress fell to the floor, the apothecary withdrew his blade  
roughly and whirled it in his hand;  
  
"It is no matter, she will be dead within a minute.. And you are  
next!!!"  
  
When Erias had been staring down Azmodan, she couldn't help but see his  
eyes wander behind her to look at at something beyond. Slowly she turned  
only to see.. The necromancer!!! Wait...Necromancers?? This was bad. The  
necromancer she had saved was vital to the future of her clan, and her,  
he couldn't die! Delving into the ether, she teleported, leaving Azmodan  
alone. She teleported until she was in the middle of the necromancer,  
Faust's boy, and his assailant. She was just in time to receive what she  
remembered as the most painful blow of her life!! The jagged blade of  
the dagger sliced through her skin like butter.. But the poison!!! Oh  
gods the POISON!!!! With no restraint she let out the loudest,  
bloodcurdling scream she could muster, and she almost blacked out. With  
the unreal pain bearing down on her, she screamed, even as the blade was  
withdrawn from her body.  
  
The necromancer shoved her aside and moved towards Faust again. Having  
no choice, Erias whirled around as quickly as she could with the poison's  
effects, and grabbed on to the Necromancer's shoulders. White-hot  
lightning ripped though his body, and sent him into convulsions. Now  
both of them were feeling pain, but the necromancer was more prepared  
than Erias was. When she had lost the energy and the feeling to pump any  
more lightning into him, she began to collapse. All of his minions were  
dead, but he was still alive, and slowly crawling into a portal. Erias  
blacked out.  
  
When Erias had gone back to help the poor necromancer, Donathan Aurthor  
moved forward in order to engage the demon, Azmodan. He and the other  
combatants in the area were now closing in on Azmodan. None had them had  
known exactly where in the room Erias had gone to, but they knew she had  
to still be here, for they could feel her magical energy. Now Azmodan  
seemed particularly joyous since Erias was away, as could be seen in the  
gleaming effect his eyes took whenever Aurthor stepped forward. The  
demon's long, almost snakelike tongue drifted across his needle like  
teeth, which had been bared when Erias had been her opponent. Now they  
were clearly out in defiance and mocking of Aurthor. His voice was  
filled with sarcasm, but the people around could detect the demonic  
hostility just the same, for Aurthor was the one that captured him!!  
  
"Don Donathan Aurthor... How nice to see you again! I remember our little  
"confrontation" in the old Durance of Mephisto... Oh yes, I remember it  
well. But I remember most clearly the way I was barred!!! Lift to  
suffocate in a mortal bag!!! The cursed Horadrim, Cain!!! Those bags he  
made were designed for the specific purpose of holding smaller demons,  
but you seemed to have found a better use for them!!!! For that you will  
pay!!!!!!!"  
  
Without any warning except for his increased psychotic nature, Azmodan  
flew forward and began to converge on Aurthor, using his demonic power to  
channel great amounts of dark energy through his long, scythe like claws.  
The energy took the form of a great purple flame that enveloped each  
hand in demonic fury. However terrible this power was, however, Aurthor  
didn't seem to be phased, or even afraid by it. He stood as the demon  
got closer and closer to his original position, but didn't actually move  
until a little more than a yard separated him from Azmodan. With  
conviction, he lifted up the heavy shield of his ancestor, held it in  
front of him, and ran at almost demonic speed. With a large 'crash' he  
collided shield-first with Azmodan, causing the latter, who was already  
in a rather weakened state, to fly backwards once more up against his  
familiar stone wall. However, the attack and impacts of Aurthor's attack  
were too much for Azmodan's physical body this time. Instead of getting  
up, now he flopped back down to the ground, head cocked sideways in a  
dazed position. He was too tired to continue on the fight, thanks mostly  
to Erias and the paladin in front of him. Out of exhaustion, and only  
out of exhaustion, he let his prize go... The skin on his forehead receded  
back, revealing a gem of purple hue that would have been the most  
beautiful jewel in existence, had it not been the life force of something  
completely evil.  
  
Now the demon called back, weakly of course, but still enough to have  
voice in the room;  
  
"It seems that you have exposed my Stone.. Congratulations on your part,  
that took some skill.. But I'm afraid, Paladin, that at this point there  
is nothing you can do to stop me from healing now. No weapon, no skill,  
no nothing will stop me, because you have nothing with you capable of  
destroying my Soulstone!!!!"  
  
The demon let out a maniacal laugh, but Don Aurthor wasn't listening.  
Slowly he reached down and took the large, one-handed hammer off of a  
brace in a thigh plate of his armor. With one hand he hefted it, then he  
gripped it tightly. Azmodan had just seen what he had held, and it  
seemed that he of all people knew what it was! His large, sunken eyes  
seemed to get larger and sink deeper inside at the sight of the weapon in  
Aurthor's hand;  
  
"No!!! NOOO!! It can't be!!! Not the Hellfor-"  
  
That was as far as Azmodan got in his plea for help, for Don Aurthor had  
drawn back the hammer and slammed its head into the stone set into the  
cranium of the demon. With an explosion fitting for a Lesser Evil, the  
stone was destroyed, and all that was left of Azmodan and his minions was  
burning away, as if some imaginary fire had been set on all of the  
carcasses. Aurthor, Penelope, Ilfe and the others around them had let  
out a cheer, but they did not know that the battle still waged for some  
of their allies.  
  
Erias now lay on the cold, stony floor of the desecrated meeting hall.  
In other parts of the room, she might have been able to hear the  
cheering, but to her all was silent. The two necromancers around her,  
however, could see that her blood was still moving, and she was still  
breathing, though rather weakly. To one of the necromancer's, this was a  
blessing, to other, it seemed like nothing more than an annoyance. Now  
Faust and his helmeted nemesis stood, face to face. However, the odds  
were not even. It had only been seconds before Erias had dealt with the  
Apothecary, and now the summoner was taking his own course of action. In  
front of an emotionally battered and despairing Faust, the summoner  
beckoned his minions, all of which jumped on to Erias' body and began  
fight the comatose sorceress.  
  
This sight was all that Faust had cared to see. With a cruel grin, or  
one that Faust could have at least imagined, the summoner glared at him,  
a crazed but euphoria-based laugh echoing from his mouth to the halls.  
Faust was infuriated and extremely saddened by what had happened. The  
sorceress had been his friend for no apparent reason; she had helped him  
when he first arrived, and she had saved his life at least twice while he  
was here! There was nothing he did to deserve her kindness, but she gave  
it to him! And he killed her!!! Now fury began to fill Faust! With the  
anger fueled by the actions of the summoner, and his own mgical will, he  
dug into the ether to let out a last ditch strike of as many Den'Trag  
ever seen.. But that was not what he got. His fury and anger were so  
great, that a large vortex of ethereal energy began forming on his  
outstretched palm. This vortex, much larger that that of the Den'Trag,  
caught the attention of the summoner and his minions;  
  
"What the Hell...!!!!!"  
  
But his recognition was too late. With awesome skill for a first timer,  
Faust hurled two long spikes of energy similar to the Den'Trag at the  
minions of the summoner. However, he soon found out the difference in  
this new technique. The long spikes of bone each impaled a minion of the  
summoner, but kept going past the initial target. In this way, those two  
spikes destroyed all of the summoner's minions. The summoner himself was  
in for a shock as both spikes went through him as well, sending him  
backward from the room. He hit the floor a resounding two times, once in  
the back of the head, and another on his chin, from rebound. Now bits of  
his helmet were coming off, and like a frightened mouse, he opened a  
portal and ran through it, allowing Faust only to see a lock of white  
hair characteristic to most necromancers.  
  
He looked around, and then he saw a glint of something.. Of steel!! On  
the ground there lay a fine dagger, made of the bone of a demon from what  
Faust could gather. The dagger itself still lay in its sheath, and there  
was a belt attached to it, but Faust could guess who it had belonged to.  
With a walk of grief, and a face that reflected this emotion, he walked  
back to the others, who he could see standing across the hall, waiting  
for him. 


	11. Chapter 10: Survivors Among the Ashes

Chapter 10: Survivors Among the Ashes  
  
Faust reached the others in due time, all of which were waiting for him  
as if they had been to a funeral. In his hand he held the dagger that  
the female sorceress—Erias had possessed. He had been holding the dagger  
by its belt, for he was almost afraid to touch it. He could sense from  
it a power that was very great, but whether or not that was from the  
weapon or the wielder he didn't know. Looking at it, he could seen its  
blade even through the sheath, which was little more than a leather  
backing with straps holding the weapon. It was originally curved, he  
could tell, but it had been magically, or mundanely shaped into a  
straight blade. Probably made from a particularly nasty fang of a felled  
demon, the craftsmanship on the weapon was one that couldn't be denied.  
It had to have been crafted by the joint efforts of both a cunning mage  
and a very skilled blacksmith, the perfect weapon it almost seemed like,  
the joining of two arts.  
  
By this time he had become within reasonable distance of the group of  
adventurers around. The only ones left now were four. There was a  
sorceress, a younger one, whom Faust identified as Erias's apprentice.  
Faust honestly had no backing on this, but the dirty yet worried look she  
shot him gave him enough hints. The sorceress seemed almost accusing as  
she followed him to the rest of the group as well, apparently she didn't  
trust him very well. The second young person there was the assassin that  
Faust had recognized as his cell guard, she seemed to share the same  
feelings as the sorceress, but there seemed to be some...Understanding in  
her eyes.  
  
The other two individuals of the group towered above the three measly  
apprentices; an imposing assassin and the golem Faust had seen earlier.  
However, now the golem had decapitated himself, revealing his 'head' to  
be nothing but a rather large helmet. Under the helmet, Faust could now  
see, was the dignified and stone-cold face inherent to every Knight of  
Zakarum, but this one had a sort of inner fire inside him, a great  
determination. Also, not only did he stand clad in the most imposing set  
of armor Faust had ever seen, but he also carried a mammoth shield on his  
back, and his sides were adorned with two of the most fearsome weapons  
ever laid eyes on, in Faust's world, anyway. The first, on his left hand  
side, was a scabbard containing a long, intimidating long sword. The  
hilt of the blade was adorned with runes, all of which Faust could read,  
so he decided not to tango with the paladin. The second weapon was a  
large wooden hammer hanging on a metal hoop that also seemed to have its  
own presence in the room. Faust decided never to be on the receiving end  
of that hammer, in fact, it was probably best not to speak to the paladin  
unless asked, much less anger him, assuming that Faust didn't want to  
become fodder to his peers.  
  
They had all sat there a small amount of time, when the paladin was the  
first to speak. The others in the room, who were familiar with his  
voice, prepared themselves for the booming timbre of a voice they had  
heard in the hall earlier. They could tell that the paladin was a  
powerful speaker from his long speech earlier, and they planned to hear  
more of the same;  
  
What they heard was a voice that still seemed to contain that timbre,  
that something the paladin had when he spoke, but also a quieter sort of  
sound more suited for closer situations;  
  
"We've won the battle for now, but we have to count our losses. We're  
lucky. Six out of our group were killed overall. What we should be  
happy about is that all of the elders made it out alive, even that  
Corrack V'Arr mage. The rest of us will-"  
  
The paladin was stopped short as Faust cleared his throat. The others in  
the group turned towards him and looked at him with a look that showed  
they were somewhat perturbed. Though he could tell that he was liked  
very well among the group, being a Priest, he still said what he had to  
say;  
  
"That's..Not entirely true." He paused and let out a small sob. The  
elder sorceress had been one of, if not his only companion in the past  
day or so, so he had a special attachment to her, or so he thought,  
anyway;  
  
He continued; "We did lose one elder..." Not being able to say much else,  
he simply dropped the dagger for the rest to see. The room went stark  
quiet, like a mortuary or a mausoleum. The others there had known Erias,  
and it showed. Penelope began weeping outright when she saw that lone  
dagger without its master. The others recoiled in horror. Faust could  
see why they were doing so. Erias wielded awesome power for a sorceress,  
if the menace that they were up against could kill her, than what would  
they be up against?!? If the savior from the Hell Days had already died,  
then what hope was there for them now??  
  
Quirrari, the assassin elder, was the first to speak after the news had  
been broken, after the stark silence. Her leadership qualities were  
apparent in the way that she carried herself, and in the way that she  
spoke;  
  
"Regardless. Erias may be dead, but that doesn't matter! We have eight  
other powerful mages and sorceresses; Erias's loss was great, but it is  
by no means our end! We must contact all cultures and reaches of the  
world! There are still four heroes left, four others that survived the  
Prime Evils, we must-"  
  
This time Faust opened his mouth; he felt like he was a dwarf in a land  
of giants, but his opinion had to be heard concerning the Heroes. He  
had, of course, lived with one the whole of his life, and knew how he  
thought. At least, he did. Now that his own father had wanted him and  
Erias dead, and gotten his wish, he didn't know if he knew his father  
very well at all. One thing was certain though; his father couldn't be  
trusted.  
  
"Four heroes? You would ask the service of my father?!? He cannot be  
trusted! He was the one who sent the murderers of your elder! He is the  
reason she is dead! You would trust a traitor such as he! He envied  
Erias' power, and he killed her! Right now I imagine he is planning to  
kill all of us, even me, his own blood! If you ally with Faust, you ally  
with death, it is that simple!"  
  
It seemed that his talk had rallied a spirit in the paladin as well,  
moving forward, Aurthor began speaking too, in a voice just as emotional  
and passionate as Faust's, but of course, with more wisdom and knowledge  
behind it;  
  
"And what of the others? Nikea is away in her islands, with enough  
trouble on her plate as it is! Do you not recall how the Amazonian  
nations just went into complete seclusion so many years ago? They will  
not answer us!! The Barbarians of Arreat are too busy with their own  
matters, Kathos will not aid us unless trouble is at his door step, why,  
if it were not for the fact that the magic of the mages keeps the world  
together, I doubt Kathos would much as speak to us! And as for the  
druids... Good luck getting them to leave their forests!"  
  
"ENOUGH!!!!!"  
  
A crackle of thunder echoed throughout the room as the cry startled  
everyone in the room. Penelope, the apprentice of the fallen sorceress,  
seemed to take on an heir of her fallen mentor at that point. Floating  
in the air with lightning crackling about her, she caused the others to  
forget what they had been arguing about.  
  
"I've had enough of this squabbling!!" her breath could be seen to come  
out in misty spurts, for the air around her had been chilled by her fury;  
  
"My teacher, my guardian, the only thing I ever had close to a parent has  
died, and all you can do is ARGUE! Give everyone some time to rest  
before you move on! I understand that what we are dealing with is  
important, but if Evil is to prevail it will do so without your  
planning!"  
  
And with that, she levitated out of the hall, through the portal. The  
others quickly followed, whispering to themselves about Penelope, and  
other happenings. All of them left, except for Faust at least. He  
stood there, alone, contemplating his future. He was there only a few  
seconds before he picked up the dagger, and walked out into the camp.  
  
"So you failed..." the stern voice of the necromancer pierced the hall as  
he looked upon his apprentices. Even in the dim, candlelit room, they  
could still see his disappointment. Their targets had been Faust and the  
sorceress, but it seemed that they hadn't been successful.  
  
"Failed? No, my lord!"  
  
His nephew was the first to cover their tracks. It was to be expected,  
he had always vied for his uncle's title. The second apprentice was just  
quiet.  
  
"In what way have you not failed?" Faust spoke up;  
  
"You were supposed to bring me the head of the boy and of Erias, I do not  
see their heads, so therefore, you both have failed.  
  
"Not so! We did manage to kill the sorceress!"  
  
"Did you see her dead body!"  
  
"No, my lord. The apothecary's poison, and my minions made short work of  
her body before we were able to lay eyes on it."  
  
"You fool! Erias would not die so easily! I would punish you, but I am  
beginning to tire. Leave me at once until I call for you. And next  
time, I will not tolerate evil from both of you! Understand?"  
  
Both of them nodded their heads, and left. In his mind, Faust could see  
the wrathful gaze of Erias staring at his very soul. She would hear from  
him again soon, for he knew there was no way she was dead. 


End file.
